


The Other Side

by Sunne



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2018-05-15 21:40:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 57,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5801242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunne/pseuds/Sunne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is more to the world than what one can see, and it all lies beyond the veil in the Department of Mysteries. This is a story of what could have been and of what actually happened. It's family, friendship, hope, grief, and love all tied together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

 

Sirius Black came to with a start, lungs gasping and arms flailing in panic.  He sat up, his breath hitching in his throat.  His hands clawed at his chest, grabbing handfuls of cloth, and felt solid flesh beneath his desperate fingers.  Solid flesh, not the mangled and mutilated tissue he was sure his cousin’s curse was meant to deliver.  Bellatrix’s gaunt and sunken face drifted through his mind.   He remembered the crazed and desperate glee that lit up her eyes as she pointed her wand at his chest and cast the spell that struck him in the chest and pushed him backwards.

He halted, his right hand still clutching the front of his robes, the fabric burned and singed, bits of it crumbling apart in his fingers.  His chest hurt as if he had been burned.

The veil.

Had he fallen through the veil?  Sirius twisted around as if he would be able to see the veil somewhere around him.  But he saw nothing but tall dark shapes towering above him.  He craned his neck to look upwards.  They were trees.  He was in the middle of a forest.  Up above, the sky was crystal clear, a black ceiling with pinholes for stars shining down.  A thin layer of snow blanketed the ground and an ever increasingly biting wind whipped through the trees.  It sliced through Sirius’ robes like shards of glass.  He shivered.

Snow?  He rolled over to his knees and carefully got to his feet.  It was the middle of June, and if he remembered correctly, far too warm for there to be snow.  Sirius crouched down and picked up a handful of the snow.  It was heavy and wet.  He packed the snow into a ball and chucked it at a tree not too far away.  It hit with a wet splat.  Sirius frowned.

Where was he?

Spinning in a circle, he gripped his wand and scrunched his face up into a grimace.  This was not good.  Not good at all.  The battle at the Department of Mysteries surfaced in his mind.  The rescue mission had turned into an utter chaotic mess.  They had walked right into a trap, the place crawling with Death Eaters.  And right in the middle of it all was Harry.

Oh, Merlin.

Sirius dragged his hands down his face, his wand loose in his fingers.

Harry.

He again turned in a circle, his footsteps muffled on the forest floor by the fresh snowfall.  Off in the distance an owl hooted and then the distinct whoosh of wings spread wide as it took flight.  It began to snow, large flakes drifting slowly downward, so gently as if in slow motion.  He watched the snow start to come down and thought of his godson stuck in the center of a Death Eater trap, surrounded by those who wanted to kill him.  Sirius’ stomach turned.  Where was Harry now?  He hoped he was alright, that Moody, Remus, Tonks, and Shacklebolt managed to get Harry and his friends out of there.  

All he remembered were bright flashes of spells being cast in a dizzying mess from every direction.  How a bunch of children would survive that and escape, even with the Order’s help, Sirius was finding it hard to believe.  But if there was one person who would be able to get himself out of a mess like that, it would certainly be Harry.  That kid had a penchant for not only finding himself in trouble but also for finding a way out of trouble.

He closed his eyes and shook his head, his ears ringing faintly. 

The kid had been through so much in the past few years.  

Sirius thought of the dozens of letters Harry had sent since the start of fifth year, letters filled with questions, worries and concerns.  They were all letters Sirius couldn’t fully answer.  That sent a wash of guilt through his body.  All Harry had wanted was the right to be informed.  He was at the center of this war but the one kept in the dark.  Sirius couldn’t blame him for his outbursts this past year.  His wave of guilt quickly flowed into anger, anger at himself.  He was Harry’s godfather and it was his responsibility to be there for the kid.  A heavy weight hung from Sirius’ heart.  He had failed.  He knew right then and there as he stood in the middle of the dark, snowy forest that he had failed his godson.

Way off in the distance, a wolf howled, a low and predatory sound.  Sirius froze for a moment, his ears tuned to the sound but what followed was only silence.  A lone wolf likely, he thought to himself.  

He glanced up at the sky, the stars spread out like a map.  Sirius spun in a slow circle, looking for a few recognizable constellations he could navigate by.  There was no moon visible in the sky, the trees tall and expansive as they reached up towards the sky.  Taking a few steps backwards as he located the north star, he tripped over what felt like a log and landed jarringly on his arse.

The log groaned.

Sirius scrambled forward, seeing a mess of dark hair contrasted against the snow.  His hands grabbed at cloth, solid and warm flesh underneath.  He had a brief, panicky moment where he thought a Death Eater had followed him through the veil to where ever he was but that was broken at the sight of his godson’s face turning up at the sky as Sirius rolled the body over.

His breath hitched and caught in the back of his throat.

“H-Harry?” he managed to choke out.  His hand shook his godson’s shoulders.

Harry opened his eyes and gasped before letting out a low groan.  He drew his knees up and blindly grabbed at Sirius’s arms.

“Hey, hey,” Sirius said, taking Harry’s hands.  “Calm down.”

He watched as Harry squeezes his eyes shut and tried to turn onto his side, his hand pressing immediately to his side.  Leaning over his godson, Sirius began checking for injuries, running his hands down his arms and legs and chest, finding nothing.  Sirius looked at Harry’s hand pressing against his side, his fingers gripped tightly.  He took his godson’s hand and unfolded the fingers.

Harry cried out.

“Shh,” Sirius soothed.  “Easy, you’ll be okay.”  

Reaching to pull the edges of Harry’s robe back, Sirius quickly found his fingers covered in hot, sticky blood.  

“Oh, fuck,” he said.  “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”  

A long cut sliced through Harry’s side right beneath his ribs.  Harry moaned and tried to move, causing blood to ooze out of the wound.  Sirius gripped his wand, trying his damndest to remember the spell to heal large cuts.  Hell, he would have taken remembering any healing spells, but none came forth, his mind empty.  Sirius sunk his fingers into his hair, thinking for a moment before standing.  He removed his robes and used his wand to cut a long wide strip from the black fabric.  

“Alright, we’ll just have to do this the muggle way,” he muttered to himself, kneeling down and using his wand to help him wind the make-shift bandage around Harry’s torso.  Tying it off, he cast a hover charm, the boy floating upwards.  Sirius glanced upwards at the stars once more.  It was then that he saw the moon, slowly rising over the tops of the trees, already nearly at the apex of the sky.  It hung, large and swollen, a glowing orb in the sky.  It was a sight that made Sirius shiver as if hit with a chilling charm.

With his wand pointed at Harry, he began walking, his boots making a muffled crunch through the snow and underlying brush.  He guided his godson between the trees but soon gave up on the hover charm.  Grabbing Harry’s arms, he heaved his godson’s weight over his left shoulder and began walking at a pace that was a near half-run.

Every gust of wind sounded like a wolf’s howl to Sirius’ ears.  He recalled the wolf’s howl from earlier and wondered if it had been a wolf or something worse.  The notion of being stalked through the dark wood by a werewolf was not one Sirius wanted to entertain despite having extensive experience in his younger years of running with one.  However, that had been different.  That had been Moony and he had been in his animagus form along with Prongs.  It was different, so different than his current situation.

Harry’s weight shifted as they boy strained against Sirius’s grip.

“Whoa,” he said, his knees nearly buckling as his godson’s weight slid off his shoulder.  Sirius lowered him to the ground, Harry muttering a slurred string of words.  Sirius leaned down.  “What was that?”

“Sirius?” 

“Yeah, kid, I’m right here.”

“Wha’ happened?”

“That’s a story for another time,” Sirius said.  “We have to get out of here.  Do you think you can walk?”

“Sure,” Harry said.  He opened his eyes for a moment, only to close them after the effort required was too much.  

Sirius took his arm and tried to haul Harry to his feet but the boy was dead weight.

“C’mon Harry,” Sirius grunted.

“‘M trying,” Harry said, his head lolling to the side.  “Why’m I so tired?”

“I don’t know, kid,” Sirius said.  “Do you know what you were hit with?”

“Hit with?”

Sirius gave up.  Harry groaned and slumped back down to the ground.  Sweat starting to run down through Sirius’ hair, he knelt down again and lifted Harry onto his shoulder.

“Oww,” Harry groaned, the noise turning into a muffled scream as Harry buried his face in Sirius’ robes.

Sirius grimaced.  “Sorry, kid,” he said.

“Why do I hurt so much?”

“I think you were hit with a nasty curse back at the Department of Mysteries.”

“Department of Mysteries?”

“Yeah, do you remember?”

“Kinda,” Harry said softly, his head hanging limply.  “It was a trap.”

Sirius sighed.

“‘M sorry, Padfoot.”

“There’s no need.”

“Mione was right,” he muttered.

“Right about what?”

“I have a saving-people-thing.”

“You know, that’s not always a bad thing.”

“It is when it gets your friends caught in a Death Eater trap.”

Sirius said nothing, his stomach clenching painfully, and just focused on walking as fast as possible.  He felt hands grip tighter into his robes, his godson’s head resting against his upper back.  Harry was small for his age but still a considerable weight when thrown over one’s shoulder while walking briskly through uneven terrain.  Sirius tightened his grip on Harry.

“Sirius?”

“Yeah?”

“Where are we?”

Sirius glanced upwards, the moon just starting its descent in the sky.  There were still hours left before dawn.

“I don’t know.”

“How’d we get here?”

“I think it was the veil in the Department of Mysteries.”

Harry said nothing.  Off in the distance a noise rose high in the night.

“What’s that?” Harry asked.

Sirius’s heart sped up as did his feet.  “Nothing to worry about,” he said.  He willed his ears to transform into canine ears, using them to listen carefully to the sounds around him. He heard the normal forest nighttime sounds.  Owls hooting softly in the distance and leaves rustling in the wind.  Under all that were footsteps, determined footsteps moving with a purpose.

The wolf howled.

Harry’s head jerked up.  “Sirius...”

“I know, I know,” he said, wrapping both arms around around Harry and taking off in a run.

Branches swiped across Sirius’ face, leaving burning tracks through his skin.  But he paid the sensation no mind, focused too intently on the sound of the werewolf that was succeeding in tracking them.  He focused on keeping his footing, his feet slipping and sliding through the snow covered forest floor.  And all through this, Harry’s cries and grunts of pain shoved icy spikes into his heart.  His godson was in pain, but if he didn’t run fast enough, his godson would have more to worry about.

Sirius ran between two thin trees and half slid down an embankment.  He regained his footing and continued running.  From the corner of his eye, he watched a dark shadow keeping pace with them.  His legs began to burn, muscles straining to keep up the frantic pace as his lungs seared.  He ran down a small embankment and splashed through a small stream, his toes going numb as icy water leaked through his boots.  He stumbled as he tried to get up the other side, falling heavily to one knee.  Harry slid off Sirius shoulder and landed on the ground with a pained grunt.  Sirius hovered over his godson, using his own body to protect the boy.

And then it emerged, growling and teeth bared, lunging for them.  Sirius let instinct take over, shifting into Padfoot and standing over Harry to shield the injured pup.  He pulled his lips back and growled.  The wolf took the gesture as no threat and leapt forward, eyes intent on injured prey.

A stag burst from the trees at a full run and ran his head into the soft underbelly of the werewolf.  The stag snarled, using his teeth to chomp in the werewolf’s face and giving the beast a good jab or two with his antlers.  The werewolf backed down.

Padfoot shifted back to human form.  Sirius fell back onto his arse and scooted several feet to the side, his mind not believing what his eyes were seeing.

“P-Prongs?”


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

 

The stag turned into a man who quickly  _ stupified  _ the werewolf before turning around.  “Quick, get out of here and run.  There is a small shed half a kilometer that way.  The spell won’t hold for much longer.”

Sirius grabbed Harry and ran, tearing through the woods in the direction the man had pointed.  The full moon began to set, dropping behind a large mass of clouds.  The forest grew darker and Sirius ran blindly, tripping and stumbling over fallen trees, twisting his right foot painfully at one point as he slid down a small hill.

This was crazy, absolutely raving mad crazy, Sirius thought to himself.  He was running through a forest, blindly, at the direction of a man who just happened to have the same animagus form as his dead best friend.  The darkly familiar sensation that this was not actually real began to seep into his brain.  An icy chill ran down his spine.  Sirius shook head head, trying to rid himself of the old cobwebs that clung to his mind.  

No, he was not in Azkaban and he was not insane.  This was real.  The weight of Harry over his shoulder and the cloying scent of blood was real, too real.  He had fallen through the veil and now he was running through a forest.  His godson was injured and needed help.  There was a shed somewhere near.  Sirius repeated those thoughts over and over in his head.

But then he saw the faint light off in the distance and he ran towards it.  In a small clearing there was a shed with a small light above the door.  A muggle light, Sirius thought as he grabbed the door and opened it.  It opened with ease.  Sirius carried Harry into the shed and closed the door behind him.  The shed was crowded with objects, several falling around Sirius as he set Harry down on the ground.  He ignored them as he lit his wand with a  _ lumos _ and pointed it at Harry.

“Harry,” he said, tapping his godson on the cheek.

His skin was cold and panic swelled in Sirius’ heart.

“Oh no, oh Merlin no,” he whispered, leaning over his godson’s body.

Sirius fumbled at Harry’s side, peeling away his robes and the hastily tied bandage.  Blood soaked all of it and it was warm.  Sirius pressed his bloody fingers against the side of Harry’s neck.  His heartbeat thumped faintly.  Sirius exhaled with relief.

Behind him, something buzzed and chimed.  Jerking around, Sirius pointed his wand at the rest of the shed behind him.  A half dozen broomsticks had fallen in a heap around him and in the back corner a flash of gold hovered midair.  Sirius stared at it stupidly for a moment before recognizing it.

A toy snitch.  He waved his wand, deactivating it, the small toy falling to the ground with a clink.

Harry groaned and Sirius turned back around.

“Harry?” he said, taking one of the boy’s hands and squeezing it.

His godson mumbled several words but all Sirius could detect were broken syllables.

“You’re going to be okay,” he said, removing his robes and tucking them around the boy.  “Just hang on for a little bit longer.”

He ran his hand through his hair, his fingers getting caught in the tangles and bits of sticks and leaves stuck in it.  Sirius untangled his hands from his hair and ran down them his face.  He pulled his hands away, unaware that tears ran down his face.  Taking a shaky breath, Sirius collected himself.  Harry needed him and he couldn’t just fall apart.  He took Harry’s hand again and held it, keeping one finger on his pulse.

“I swear, kid, if we get through this in one piece, I will do everything in my power to make sure you can come live with me.  I don’t give a flying hippogriff’s arse what Dumbledore says,” he said, trailing off for a moment.  “Well, ok, I do care what the man says, but you shouldn’t have to live with people who dislike you.  It isn’t right.”  Sirius gritted his teeth together.  “I’m so sorry, Harry.  I have failed you in so many ways.  You deserve people in your life who love you.”

Outside, the moon began to dip down below the horizon and the eastern half of the sky began to lighten as the sun rose.  The light filtered bit by bit down to the shed and through the window.  Sirius glanced up at it.

Harry coughed and groaned.

“Harry?” Sirius squeezed the boy’s hand.

The boy coughed again, gasping for air.

Sirius leaned in closer, his heart racing.  “Just hang on, kid,” he pleaded, watching as his godson’s breathing turned into a wheeze.

The door to the shed was ripped open violently.  Sirius jumped and found himself staring at the end of a wand.

“Who are you and how did you get past the wards?”

The pale grey morning illuminated the man’s silhouette but kept his face in shadow.  But Sirius recognized the broad shoulders, the untamed hair, and it sent an almost eerie shiver of recollection down his back.  

“Answer me now or you’ll learn what kinds of curses I can come up with to make you tell me,” the man shouted, stepping forward, the end of his wand pressing into Sirius’ chest.  The toe of his boot pressed into Harry’s side.

The boy gasped, his eyes snapping open.

“Hey, can you hear me,” Sirius asked.  “Harry?  Can you squeeze my hand?”

The man stepped back, lowering his wand.  “What happened?”

Harry blinked a few times, his eyes glazed over.

“He was hit with a curse.  I don’t know what kind but he’s been bleeding from a large cut in his side all night.”

The man kneeled down beside Harry.  “Hey, kid, can you hear me?”  He tapped him on the cheek a few times.  When Harry didn’t respond, he gingerly pulled the edge of his robes back.  He grimaced.  “We need to get him to the house.”  The man stood and stared down at Sirius, his expression unreadable, before stepping out of the shed’s doorway to let Sirius out.

Scooping Harry into his arms, Sirius followed the man out of the shed.  Just outside the shed an abandoned quaffle sat forgotten in the snow.  Sirius stepped over it.  It had stopped snowing, a fresh layer of powder covering everything.  The shed was at the edge of a large clearing. Sirius moved quickly across the field.  At the other end, the man stepped between two trees and disappeared.  Sirius’ footsteps faltered but the man reappeared a moment later.

“Say ‘Whitehaven, Potter Residence’ then walk between these two trees,” he instructed.

Sirius’ knees turned to jelly at the name Potter, but he followed.  The trees around him shifted, revealing a stone pathway leading up to the back porch of a small cabin, the windows all dark.  The man climbed a few stone steps and waved his wand at the back door, unlocking it.  

“Through here,” he said, leading Sirius through a small mudroom with a pile of shoes and snowboots off to one side.  

Sirius heard him banging around for a moment before light filled the room.  It was a kitchen with bright yellow walls made warm under muggle lights.  A kitchen table with four chairs positioned around it was pushed against one wall.

“Put him here,” he said, pushing a small stack of books and a few spare pieces of parchment off the table and onto one of the chairs. 

He laid Harry down on the table, the boy’s body limp.  His head rolled to one side, eyes closed, breathing shallow.  Sirius glanced between his godson and the man standing beside him rolling his shirt sleeves up.  He stood off to the side, his heart pounding and his insides swirling around sickeningly.  Sirius’ right ankle twinged painfully from when he rolled it earlier in the night.  He shifted off of it.  

In the bright kitchen light, the man was able to get a better look at the boy.  He paused for the briefest of moments, his eyes flicking over Harry’s features before shaking his head.  Taking a deep breath, he leaned over the boy.  “Hey,” he said softly, rubbing his knuckles roughly against Harry’s chest.

Harry groaned faintly.

“There you are,” the man said, pulling the edge of Harry’s robes away and banished the blood soaked bandage away with a wave of his wand.  A fresh wave of blood coated the man’s fingers.  “Shit,” he whispered, quickly pressing one of his hands against the open wound.

Sirius watched on, helpless, unnerved by the amount of blood.  “J-James, what do I do?” he asked of the man.  “I don’t know what to do.”

The man looked up for a moment, a strange look passing through his eyes before he  _ accioed _ a kitchen rag into his free hand and pressed it against Harry’s side.  James then reached over and took Sirius’ hand and held it against the kitchen rag.  Sirius stumbled slightly, hissing as his ankle gave him a sharp protest.

James glanced at Sirius before pushing a chair over towards him.  “Sit down and keep firm pressure here.  Don’t let go,” he said.  “I’ll be right back.”

James returned a moment later with a handful of potion bottles in hand.  He took one of the larger bottles half filled with a bright red potion.  He handed this to Sirius.

“Here, I’ll take this,” James said, taking the bloody rag and gesturing to Harry’s head.  “You move over there there and feed him a sip of that potion every two to three minutes.  Not too fast.”

Sirius used his good foot to scoot himself over and took Harry’s head in his hands, lifting it enough so he could dribble the potion into his mouth.  James sat at Harry’s side, waving his wand in weaving patterns over the wound.  Pale blue light spilled from his wand and formed itself into a display.  James studied the information in the display, using his wand to scroll through the list.  He frowned and shook his head, banishing the display with a flick of his hand, the pale blue light dispersing.

Sirius watched as James went through a half dozen different spells.  James’ face darkened in concern further and further with each failed spell.

“What did you say he was hit with?” James asked Sirius as he pointed his wand at Harry’s heart.  Numbers appeared hovering over his body with labels over them marking them as  _ heart rate, oxygen, _ and  _ blood pressure _ .  

“A dark curse.”

“You remember any specifics?”

Sirius shook his head running his hand frantically through his hair.  “I didn’t see it,” he said.

“I can’t get the wound to close,” James said.  “It’s been awhile since I’ve done this, but closing a wound should be simple.  I’ve done all the standard procedures.  I need help.”

“James?  What’s going on?”

Sirius twisted around in his chair at the voice, his heart spasming painfully at the red haired woman standing in the doorway to the kitchen.  She was addressing her husband but once she saw Sirius, her eyes grew large.  Slowly, she entered the kitchen, skirting around Sirius but keeping her eyes on his face.

“What-”

“Lily, I need your help,” James said.

Lily’s eyes dropped down to the body laid out on the table, Harry’s pale face, and the blood that covered James’ hands.  Concern creased her forehead and she reached out for the boy laid out on the table.  Her fingers brushed away the hair covering his forehead and ran across his skin.  Recognition registered in her eyes and she pulled her hand away quickly.

“What...what kind of sick joke is this?” Fury lit up her eyes.

“Lily, I know who he looks like,” James said, pleading with his wife.  “But, please, right now I need you to firecall Poppy.  Tell her I have an injured child who has been hit with a dark curse.  Tell her to bring Albus and Severus.  I just used the last of my blood replenishing potion and I’m going to need more brewed.”

Lily opened her mouth as if to say something, but all she did was shake her head, tears brimming in her eyes.

James reached out and grabbed her hand.  “Lily, he’s dying,” he said in a whisper, forcing her to look him in the eye.  His heart dropped at the turmoil of emotion in the green eyes he had fallen in love with all those years ago.

“Severus is unreachable,” she said thickly.  “He’s on a mission.”

“What, now?”

“He said something about,” she paused, glancing at Sirius.  “Something about new developments.”

“Fine, then just Poppy and Albus, but tell them it’s urgent.”

After Lily left, a young girl with red hair popped her head into the kitchen.  “Dad?”

James snapped his head up.  “Upstairs, now!”  He pointed at the girl.  “And tell your brother to stay upstairs.  Don’t come down until we tell you to.”

“But-”

“Now!”

The girl turned and ran, her feet pounding on the stairs.

Lily returned a moment later, Poppy Pomfrey behind her who quickly took over, directing James and shooing Sirius out of the kitchen.  Lily ushered Sirius through the kitchen door and into a comfortable living room before heading upstairs.  Albus Dumbledore stood before the fireplace, studying a cluster of grinning, laughing, and waving photos on the fireplace mantle. He turned as Sirius entered, his blue eyes twinkling.  A fire had been lit, warming the room.  Through the windows in the room, the sun continued to rise, the sky outside turning pink.

“Sit down, my boy, you’ve had a difficult night,” Albus said, choosing a particularly overstuffed armchair positioned in front of the fire.

Sirius ran a hand tiredly over his face and hobbled over to the matching chair facing the other man.  He sunk down into the chair.

“Now, please tell me how you came to be here,” the aged wizard said kindly, folding his hands in his lap, intent to listen to Sirius’ story.  “I have found it best to start at the beginning.”

So Sirius started at the beginning.


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

 

Sirius slept fitfully after Albus left, slumped down in the chair and head lolled back, mouth open.  Images and sounds from the previous night drifted through his sleep.  The Department of Mysteries.  The Death Eaters.  Harry stuck in the middle of a battle he was far too young to fight.  The veil and his cousin’s grin as she cursed him.  His godson’s face as he laid in the snow, blood staining the ground.  Sirius jerked, mumbling a few words and then sunk back down into sleep.

Some time later, a noise to Sirius’ left jerked him awake.  He sat up with a groan, his body aching and throbbing.  The house was quiet save for the fire crackling away peacefully beside him.  He leaned over with a groan, his back and head aching.

“How’d you sleep?”

Sirius looked up.  James sat across from him, one foot propped on the opposite knee.  “Like shit,” he answered honestly, wincing at the pain that hammered against the inside of his head.  “What time is it?”

“Just before dinner time.”

He ran his hand over his face, rubbing at his eyes, slow to shake the pulls of sleep from his mind.  They dragged down on his thoughts.  He breathed in deep and then remembered.  His godson, lifeless on James’ kitchen table, bleeding.  “Harry-”  Sirius looked to James with almost fear at the answer.

“He’ll be okay,” James said, leaning back in the chair.  Dark shadows hung beneath his eyes.  He hadn’t slept all night.  “Poppy and I managed to stop the bleeding.  Getting the wound to close was more difficult.  He lost a lot of blood and I ran out of blood replenishing potion.  It’s going to take time for him to heal naturally.”

Sirius sagged in his chair.  He was filled with relief so sharply it hurt.  Tears brimmed his eyes and Sirius found himself weeping.

“I-I thought for sure he…” The words froze in his throat like cement.

“He’s upstairs in our guest room sleeping,” James said quietly.  “Lily is up there sitting with him.”

Hunching forward, Sirius studied the hardwood floor and the deep red rug thrown before the fireplace.  “I kept thinking the entire time that...that I had failed y-”  Sirius stopped.

James stared at him for a long moment.  He opened his mouth, his body leaning towards Sirius familiarly, but then he looked away.  “I made you some tea,” he said instead, gesturing to the table between the chairs.  “I wasn’t sure how you liked your tea.  So, I just made it like-” He trailed off.

A mug sat beside him, steam rising from the rim.  Sirius reached for it and took a sip.  It was Earl Grey, heavy on the cream and sugar, just how he liked it.  He then downed half of it, gulping as if half parched.

The black haired man across from Sirius raised an eyebrow for a brief moment.  “This is-” he started to say.

“What?”

James shook his head.  “Nothing.”

Sirius shifted uncomfortably, wincing as various joints protested.  James watched the other man’s discomfort for a moment before sliding a small, slim vial across the table.  

“I noticed you favoring your right foot earlier,” he said.

“Twisted it in the forest,” Sirius said, taking the vial.

The vial was filled with a recognizably pink potion.  Sirius uncorked it and downed it immediately, sighing as a cool front of pain-relief traveled through his body.

James leaned forward and aimed his wand at Sirius’ foot.  “May I?” he asked.

“Be my guest.”

James tapped Sirius’ ankle, studying the information that poured out of his wand a moment later.

“You’re a healer.”

“Used to be.” He muttered a spell and the tightness surrounding the joint released.  “It was just a minor sprain.”

“So, you’re not a healer anymore?”

“Not really.”

“How can you not really be a healer?”

“It’s a long story,” James said.

Sirius studied the moving pictures on the fireplace mantle.  “You have kids.”

The other man gave him a hard look.  “Yes, I do.”

His eyes searched the photos, moving from one tiny smiling face to the other.  

“I-I don’t understand,” James said suddenly.

“What?”

“I watched you die.”

“You what?” Sirius dropped the vial on the table.

“You died five years ago.  I watched you die,” he said.  “You were hit with the killing curse and now you’re sitting right here.  I swear, if I hadn’t seen your animagus last night I would have thought it a trick.”

“You can’t fake an animagus,” Sirius said dully.

“No, you can’t.  Where did you-”  James closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.  “H-How are you here?”

“I could ask you the same things.”

“No, no you can’t.  You’re the one who showed up on my property with my…” James pressed his lips together, his fists clenching.  “With...w-with-”  He closed his eyes.  “With Harry.”

“James, I don’t know how I ended up here.  Do you know how surreal it is to be here, sitting across from you and having a conversation?  You and Lily have been dead for fifteen years.”

“What do you mean we’ve been dead for fifteen years?” 

“Exactly that.  You-Know-Who killed you October 31st fifteen years ago.  We switched Secret Keepers and were betrayed.  You-Know-Who came after Harry and you two died for him.  Harry was only a baby,” Sirius said.  

A pained expression came over James’ face and he looked away.  “That doesn’t make any sense.  We never switched Secret Keepers.  You were always-” James stopped as if his words were caught in his throat.  He ran a hand through his hair, the left side sticking up, and sighed.  “We never switched,” he continued.

Sirius said nothing, his fingers gripping the fabric of his pants.  “Tell me,” he said.  “Are you still friends with Peter?”

Anger darkened the shadows beneath James’ eyes.  “No.” He paused for a moment.  “He’s dead.”

“Good,” Sirius said.

James looked up at Sirius.  “He was your Secret Keeper and the one to betray you.”

“Fucking rat,” Sirius swore.

A look of grim understanding formed on James’ face.

Sirius shifted in his seat.  “Dumbledore said something when he was here earlier speaking with me.  It was just a passing comment but I can’t get it out of my head.  There was this veil in the Department of Mysteries where we were fighting Death Eaters.  Harry and I fell through it and the next thing I knew we were in the forest.  He was very interested in the veil and asked me dozens of questions.  At the end he had this look on his face like...like-”

“Like he knew something you didn’t but wasn’t planning on telling you just then?”

“Yes.”  Sirius laughed.  “I guess Dumbledore is Dumbledore no matter where you are.”

“Well, what did the old man say?”

“He said he needed to do some research because he wasn’t sure if  _ this world _ had a veil like that.”

James frowned.  “This world?”

“That’s what I said.”

“What is that supposed to mean?  He surely isn’t suggesting that you’re…”

“How else would you explain what happened last night?”

Groaning, James rubbed his face with his hand vigorously.  “I am far too knackered to have this sort of discussion.”

“Have you slept at all?”

“No.  I feel stretched as thin as a sheet of parchment.”  He looked it too, his face pale and drawn with exhaustion.

Lily appeared, slowly descending the steps.  James twisted around.  Sirius recognized the familiar look of deep and hopeless love on the other man’s face as he looked at his wife.  

“I’m going to get started on dinner,” she said, kissing James on the side of his head.  He leaned into it.  “Remus will be here soon.  The kids are staying at The Burrow for the night so it’ll be just the four of us.”  She trailed off, looking at Sirius.  “It’s nice having you here, even if you’re not…” She stopped, James looping an arm around her waist.  

Sirius smiled, tears shining in his eyes.  “It’s good to see you too, Lily.”

Lily glanced at the stairs that lead to the second floor.  “He’s different but not,” she said.  “I know he isn’t mine, but he feels like he should be.”

James gave her a gentle squeeze.  “I have a monitoring charm on him, Lils.  If anything changes, I’ll know.”

She ran her fingers through his hair, separating the tangled strands gently.

The sound of a door banging open came from the far end of the house.  Footsteps quickly passed through the kitchen.  Remus strode halfway into the living room and came to an abrupt halt.  “I-I didn’t want to believe it when James firecalled me earlier but there you are.”  

OOO

Harry Potter floated in a sea, the water buoyant, suspending him in what felt like nothing.  He tried to wiggle his fingers and toes but couldn’t. Could he even feel them?  He didn’t think he could and felt like that was something he should worry over.  But the water was warm and peaceful, gently lulling him into a sense of calm and contentment.  Harry let the concerns fluttering at the edges of his mind go, banishing them into nothingness.  He let the heavy covers of tranquility weigh him down, dragging him deeper and deeper into nothingness until Harry couldn’t even feel the water.  He was just Harry, floating on his own.

OOO

Voices pulled Harry from the depths of his mind.  They rose and swelled around him, fading and rising.  He could pick out no words, only the faint cadence of speech surrounding him.  It was soothing in a way, the voices, soft and gentle.  From deep down, a faint tingle of recollection wiggled itself up from his memories.  Harry tried to focus on the voices, strained and concentrated, but found himself drifting, carried out to sea again.

OOO

A gentle touch brought Harry closer to the surface.  There was a rush of chill and hands rolling his body onto his side.  His head swam violently at the sudden movement and he groaned.

“Easy, kid,” someone said, a hand resting on his shoulder.

And then there was pain, a horrendous wave of it washing over him.  He gasped, eyes snapping open.  He saw nothing, all blurry vague shapes and bright light that had him closing his eyes again.  His side burned and throbbed in sickening waves.  He wished for the warm water to carry him away again.  Instead, he focused on his breathing as the pain escalated, his heart pounding.  A sharp pain in his mouth made him realize he’d bit his tongue, a gush of warm metallic fluid filling his mouth.

“Shit,” someone said above him.

A glass vial was pressed against his lips, and a potion poured down his throat.  Harry swallowed instinctively.  The potion took effect immediately, the pain fading and he found himself relaxing back into the dark watery abyss.

OOO

Harry came to some time later, lying on his side, his head sunk down into the pillow.  Where was he?  The bed he laid in was warm and comfortable, the sheets smelling of lavender.  Was he back at Hogwarts?  The hospital wing?  His mind searched and rooted around for an explanation.  

The Department of Mysteries surfaced in his thoughts.  Death Eaters had swarmed his friends and him on what Harry had thought would be a rescue mission.  It had been a trap, an elaborate ruse concocted by Voldemort to get him...where?  

Harry groaned faintly, burying his head further into the pillow.  He stretched one leg out straight.  His side pulled painfully and he stopped, holding his breath, and waited to see if the pain would worsen.  It continued to twinge and ache but progressed no further.  His thoughts returned to the Department of Mysteries.

A swirl of fear and regret began in the deepest pit of his stomach as he recalled the utter mess he had gotten his friends into.  Hermione had been right.  He had a habit of trying to save people which just ended up getting them hurt.  Flashes of faces passed through his mind.  His parents, Cedric Diggory, and now his friends.  The swirl of fear began to move faster, consuming his heart.  It hurt.  Harry wrapped his arms around himself.

What had he done?

And then another face appeared, his godfather’s as he fell through the veil.  

No, that couldn’t be right.  Harry distinctly remembered talking to Sirius afterwards.  There was a forest and snow.  Right?  But how had they gotten to that forest?  And why was it snowing in June?  Harry’s mind circled around and around in dizzying circles until Harry forced himself to push his thoughts away.  

He focused on the here and now.  Harry opened his eyes to a blurry world.  He tried to swallow and struggled, his throat dry and tongue sticky.  Reaching forward, he felt blindly for his glasses.  He found them on the nightstand beside his bed, along with his wand but a sound behind him had him yanking his hand back, both objects clutched in his fingers.

Whispers came from behind Harry and he froze, listening intently.

“Dad said we’re not to go in here.”

“I just want a look at his face.  I heard Mum and Dad talking last night.”

There was a sigh.  “Fine, I’ll watch the hall.”

The rim of Harry’s glasses bit into his hand but he managed to get a firm grip on the handle of his wand.  He waited, listening as soft footsteps approached his bed.  Then, at what seemed like the last minute, he jumped out of bed.  Except, what he had planned on happening, didn’t in fact happen.  Instead, several things happened all at once.

The pulling and throbbing at his side burst into a sharp pain, leaving Harry gasping and half bent over.  The room spun.

Someone screamed, high pitched and grating on his ears.

Another person called out.  “Dad!”

He crammed his glasses onto his face.  A young girl barely old enough to be a first year at Hogwarts stood in front of him, her eyes as wide and round as full moons.  Harry leaned doubled over against the wall and stared at her, at her red hair and green eyes.  Across the room, a boy a few years older stood in the doorway, his hair a mess atop his head.  

A man ran into the room, his eyes quickly summing up the situation.  “Em, Sam.” He pointed.  “Out, both of you,” he said.  “Did neither of you hear a single word I said earlier today?”

Harry stared at the man, at his broad shoulders and black, messy hair that looked like he had just been sleeping.  He slid down the wall, landing on his arse.  His body began to tingle as he looked at the man’s face as he reprimanded the two children.  It was a familiar face, granted older, but one Harry recognized.  He had stared at that face in the photo album Hagrid had given him all those years ago.

“Where am I?” Harry asked.

“You’re at my house.  You were injured and have been unconscious for three days.”

“Wh-Who are you?” Harry pointed his wand at the man.  His side had begun to burn and it felt distinctly wet.  “What sort of joke is this?”

“Not a joke, I promise,” the man said.  He stepped forward and Harry attempted a  _ stupify _ , but James was faster, disarming the injured boy with Auror-quick reflexes.  “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, holding both his and Harry’s wand in one hand.

Harry scrambled back.

James glanced at Harry’s side.  “You’re bleeding again,” he said.  “And I can tell you’re in a lot pain.”

Harry gritted his teeth together.  “Stay-stay away from me.”

Sirius appeared in the doorway, quickly moved around James, and knelt down in front of Harry.

“Sirius?” Harry said thickly.

“I’m here, kid.”  He took Harry’s face in his hands for a moment before hugging him.  “I’m here.”

Harry wrapped his arms around his godfather.  “What’s going on?  I don’t understand.”

Sirius pulled away.  “Let’s get you back into bed and I’ll explain everything.”  


	4. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

 

James Potter couldn’t sleep, but that wasn’t anything new.  He stood at the window staring at the dark sky.  Behind him, Lily slept with the quiet and stillness of potion-assisted sleep.  His side of the bed remained empty, having long grown cold.  The moon was half risen, a bright half circle in the sky.  He made a mental note of the date and quickly calculated when it would be full again.  His fingers worried the hem of his t-shirt.  Bothered by the motion, he crossed his arms and leaned his shoulder against the window jamb.  He stood motionless for a long time, the moon rising to its apex, before James had had enough of his own mind.  He needed something to do.  Turning, he gave Lily a quick glance, though he knew she would still be sleeping and wouldn’t wake until the sleeping draught she had taken wore off.  

The house was silent with the stillness of the middle of the night.  James paused in the hallway for a moment before heading for his office at the end of the hall.  He quietly turned the handle, the door clicking open.  James was careful to avoid looking at the closed door across the hall, something he did out of self preservation.  Once in his office, he shut the door with a soft click and activated with a wave of his hand the soft lights he had installed in the room.  

It was a small room with a large desk, two bookshelves, and a sizable chest crammed into the space.  Pulling the chair over to the chest, James sat down.  Tapping the top of the wooden box three times with his wand, it registered his magical signature and unlocked.  He lifted the top, the hinges protesting.  James made a mental note to oil the old, rusty hinges later on, the age of the chest settling into the brass joints.  

The chest had once been his Hogwarts trunk so many years ago, but now it served as his healer’s chest.  The inside was spelled with both a deepening and a widening charm, expanding the inside to three times it’s outside physical proportions.  James reached in, shifting trays of vials, bottles, and tins that contained the potions, tinctures, creams, infusions, and draughts that he still kept on hand after everything that had happened.  

Twisting around, he rummaged around in his desk and found a length of parchment.  Then, with a muggle pen in hand, he methodically sorted through each tray, making note of what he had run out of or had expired and needed to replace.  The smooth glide of the ball point pen over the parchment paired with the clinking of jars calmed him, his mind settling into the routine task.  

When finished, he fished out several potions and draughts.  A few headache potions, calming draughts, wound cleaning potions, and a small stash of pepper up potions would restock the bathroom cabinet.  He set those carefully on the edge of the desk then reached back in, sorting through his pain relief potions, looking for the concentrated doses he had been using on the boy down the hall.  Those he slipped into the pocket of his pajama pants.  

Finished, he shut the chest and spelled it locked again.  Standing, he reached up towards the ceiling, groaning as several joints in his vertebral column popped.  Arms dropping to the side as he exhaled in relief, he glanced at the bookshelves that held all his books, the majority of which were medical texts, both magical and muggle.  James had been surprised at the in depth understanding and knowledge the muggle doctors had of the human body and found their methods and theories of treating certain conditions and injuries particularly useful.  Reaching up, he ran his fingers along the book spines, the old and familiar desire to lay his hands on a body and heal it rising up in him.

Sighing, he turned away from his old textbooks.  The bookshelf on the other wall held his old Hogwarts texts and several novels, muggle and wizarding.  On the top shelf was his pensieve, several small vials standing next to the stone basin.  He reached up, turning them all around so the labels faced outwards.  They all had L.E.P written in script on the front and James counted them.  

There were eleven.  

James frowned.  The last time he had counted them there had been ten.  He picked up the most recent vial, turning it over with his fingers, watching the silver substance roll around.  His heart sank painfully at what the new vial meant.  The vial contained another memory his wife couldn’t bear to hold on to.

A scream tore through the quiet of the sleeping household.  James jumped, dropping the vial.  He threw the door open and ran into the hallway.  Behind him, he didn’t notice the silvery threads of his wife’s memories turn to ghostly figures moving across the floorboards, acting out the memory before vanishing into wisps of smoke.

Em cowered in the hallway, her eyes wide with terror, lost in her own hell.  She screamed and screamed, fingers clawing at the walls.  James immediately went to her, took her by both shoulders, and shook her gently.

“Em!” he shouted.

The screaming dissolved into sobbing, the girl gasping for control of her breathing, and James held her close to him.  He noted distantly that her pajama bottoms were soaked through and he quietly charmed them clean and dry.

Em’s fingers clutched James’ shirt and he lifted her into his arms.  Behind him, a door opened, Sam peeking out, his face pale and fear in his eyes.

James looked at him.  “Go into my office.  There’s a bunch of potions on my desk.  Grab the smallest vial of calming draught and bring it to me.”

Sam nodded and obeyed.  The door at the other end of the hallway opened, Sirius holding his wand out high, eyes wide.  

“Nightmare,” James explained.  He carried Em into her room, waving his wand at her bed, a fresh set of sheets laid across her mattress which he spelled clean.

“You were gone again,” his daughter sobbed as he sat down on her bed, holding her against his side.  “The bad men came for you again.  Then you were gone and you didn’t come back.”

“I’m right here,” he said, running a hand over her hair.

Sam appeared in the doorway and handed his father the small vial.  James thanked him and pulled the cork out of the glass vial with his teeth and tipped the contents into his daughter’s mouth.  Over the course of a minute, the hysterical sobs calmed and her breathing normalized.

“You were gone, Daddy,” she repeated over and over.

“Em, I’m right here,” he said.  “I’m not going anywhere.  I promise.”

“But you didn’t come back.”

“It was just a dream, a bad dream, love,” he said, closing his eyes and resting his head against the wall her bed was pushed up against.  “Just a bad, bad dream,” he whispered.  A noise in the doorway had him opening his eyes again.  

Sam still stood in the doorway, tears running down his thin face.

James reached out for him.  “Come here, Sam.”

The boy climbed into the bed at once, pressing himself against his father’s side.  James rested his arm around Sam’s shoulders and closed his eyes again.  

“I dream about it too, sometimes,” James’ son said.  “That day.”

“You understand that I’m not going anywhere, right?” He looked down at his son, who turned his head away.  “That we’re safe here at Whitehaven.  No matter what is happening out there, we’re safe in here.”

Em murmured a sleepy reply but Sam remained quiet.  James sat for a long time, his arms around his children, feeling drowsy and tired.  

“Dad?” Sam asked after a while.

“Hmm?”

“They’re not ours, are they?”

James opened his eyes and looked down at Sam.  “What?”

“Harry and Sirius.  They’re not ours, are they?”

He sighed, resting head once against against the wall.  “No, they’re not.”

“I wish they were,” the boy whispered.  “I miss them so, so much.”

James heard the sorrow in his son’s voice and tightened his hold on Sam.  “Me too.”

“Why are they here?”

“I don’t know,” he said, running a hand through Sam’s hair.  “They got lost, I guess.”

The three sat like that for a long time, long enough for Sam to fall back to sleep.  Em was an already heavy weight against James’ side.  Weariness and fatigue pulled down on James but the evasive clutches of sleep still remained out of reach for him.  Opening his eyes, he carefully extracted his arms and legs and climbed over Sam to get out of the narrow bed.  Reaching for the blankets, he pulled them up over his son and daughter.  He watched his two children sleep for a few long moments, comforted by the sight of their breathing.  It was something both he and Lily had done since their children were babies, back when being parents had been new and wondrous and at the same time scary.

James flicked the tip of his wand, activating the nightlight Em still needed.  Her room began to glow with soft light, stars slowly rotating around the walls, ceiling, and floor.  Slipping out of the room, James left the door open a crack and decided to check on his patient down the hall.

“Everything okay?” Sirius sat on the bed, his legs stretched out and an old book open in his lap.  He had charmed the lamp on the bedside table to glow just enough to read by.

“Em had a nightmare,” he said, closing the door quietly behind him.  He waved his wand, the room brightening a few degrees.

Beside Sirius, Harry lay curled on his side, his forehead pressed against his godfather’s hip.  He looked so much like his own Harry, but there were differences, subtle differences.  This Harry was smaller and thinner than his Harry, more the size of Sam.  But the faces were the same, as were the emotions that seemed to swim in those green eyes.

Sirius whistled softly.  “That was quite the nightmare.”

James breathed deep.  “Yeah,” he exhaled, running a hand through his hair.  “How is he?” He nodded at the boy sleeping beside Sirius.

“Sleeping again, I think.”

A muffled response came from the blankets bunched up around Harry’s face.  “‘M not.”

“Could have fooled me, kid,” Sirius said.

James walked around the bed and sat down beside Harry, the mattress sinking down slightly.  He pulled the blankets away, Harry protesting weakly but relenting quickly.

“How’s the pain?

“Fine,” he mumbled, his eyes still closed.

“On a scale from zero to ten, with ten being on fire, how bad is it?”

“Said fine.”

“Fine isn’t a number.”

“I dunno.  Seven?”

Sirius frowned.  “Seven? And you said nothing?”

Harry shrugged one shoulder.  “It’s just pain.”

“Has it been keeping you from sleeping?” James asked, reaching into his pajama pocket for the pain relief potion.

Harry said nothing.

“If it keeps you from sleeping, then it is  _ not just pain _ ,” James scolded softly.  He flicked the cork out of the small vial with one hand and pressed it against Harry’s closed mouth.  “If you’re in pain, then you need to tell Sirius or me.”  James leaned over.  “Open,” he said.

Relenting with a scowl, Harry drank the potion, cringing slightly at the taste.

“I didn’t want to bother anyone,” he said.

James watched as an undercurrent of tension he hadn’t even noticed flowed out of the boy.  He relaxed further into the bed, one hand curled beneath his head.

“That’s no reason,” James said, pushing up the hem of the boy’s shirt.

Harry tensed.

James paused.  “Are you still in pain?”

“No,” he answered truthfully.

He studied the boy for a moment, then tapped his wand against Harry’s chest, his vitals popping up above him.  His heart rate and blood pressure were slightly elevated, but nothing to suggest the boy was in pain anymore.  Waving his hand, the numbers dispersed and James resumed his examination of the wound on Harry’s side.  Banishing the dressing, James leaned forward slightly.  It was healing, albeit slowly, but the edges were shrinking each day, the tissue growing together.  The center of the wound still gaped slightly, dark pink tissue visible.

Beside Harry, Sirius winced and looked away.

“That bad?” Harry asked, sensing his godfather’s distress.

“Healing wounds are never pretty,” James explained, pressing gently at the edges of the wound.  He glanced over at Harry.  “It’s going to be slow going but you’ll survive.”  Satisfied with the wound, James spelled a new bandage, gauze adhering magically to Harry’s side.  He then rested a hand on Harry’s leg.  “Promise me something,” he said.

“‘Kay.”

“Open your eyes and look at me please,” James asked, giving Harry’s leg a squeeze.

Harry opened one eye, swiveling it around towards James.  “What?”

“If you’re in pain, tell someone.  Don’t just suffer in silence.”

“Ok,” Harry said quietly.

“Now, I’m going to get you a sleeping draught-”

“Don’t need one.”

“If your propensity for downplaying your pain is any indicator, I imagine you haven’t slept all night,” James said.  “This is non-negotiable.”

Harry closed his eyes and sighed.  “Fine,” he said.


	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

 

When Sirius slept, he often dreamed of Azkaban.  It had been years since he’d been a prisoner, but he still couldn’t escape the old memories.  They lurked and waited for the quiet moments when Sirius was alone.  If he closed his eyes, he could still see the roughness of the stone walls, smell the acrid stench of fear and despair that drifted through the halls, and still feel the unearthly chill on his skin seeping into his bones.  He dreamt of the monotony of it all, day after day sitting in his cell, counting the bars and reminding himself of all the truths.

He was innocent.

Peter was a traitor.

He did not betray James and Lily.

And it was not him who killed all those muggles.

It was those facts he repeated to himself over and over as the dementors passed by his cell, as he laid awake many nights unable to sleep, as he grieved over the death of his best friends, and as he felt himself start to go insane.  Those truths kept Sirius grounded and tethered to reality.

Then he had escaped, slipping past the dementors in his Animagus form.  He had thought after escaping that it would be all over and he would be free.  But Azkaban had a way of keeping you imprisoned even after escaping.

Sirius woke with confusion fogging his mind.  Where was he?  He couldn’t seem to remember.  It was dark, just like his cell.  Was he back in Azkaban?  Had he never left?  Sirius felt like he should know the answer, but it was difficult to feel certain.  How could anyone be certain what was real and what was only the mind stringing together fantasies?

He sat up in the darkness and looked around.  Moonlight streamed in through a window, the light casting upon the table in front of him and reflecting in the half empty glass of water set upon it.  Sirius turned and noticed the light coming from under a door on the other side of the room.  Memory returned to him in a torrent of images.  He was in James and Lily’s house sleeping on their couch.  James and Lily were alive, at least in this universe.  He was no longer in Azkaban.  Sirius stood and moved towards the light and pushed the door open.

James stood in the kitchen at the sink staring down at a cup of tea he had his hands wrapped around.  At the door opening, he looked up.

“Hey, Padfoot, couldn’t sleep?”

“I don’t sleep much these days,” said, entering the kitchen, the door swinging shut behind him.

James laughed darkly.  “Me neither,” he said.  “Want a cuppa?”

“That would be nice,” he said.

Summoning a mug from the cabinet, James filled it with water and heated it with his wand.

“What?” James asked, noticing Sirius’ stare as he finished preparing his tea.

“Sometimes I feel like I’m dreaming and this is all just a twisted and fucked up nightmare,” he said, accepting the mug.  “You ever get that feeling?”

James frowned.  “Can’t say I do.”  He glanced at the other man.  “But, knut for your thoughts?”

“I feel any minute I’ll wake up back in Azkaban in my cell and know that this is all just a figment of my imagination.  That this is not real.  Any of it.”

James studied his tea, moving the spoon around the mug.

“I can’t believe that I’m standing here talking with you.  I mean, you’ve been dead for years.  And here you are, living and breathing and talking.”  Sirius wrapped his hands tighter around his mug, relishing the heat radiating from the mug.  

Downing the rest of his tea, James set his mug down in the sink and shook his head angrily.  “I can’t believe they threw you in Azkaban for thirteen years with no trial.  I mean, not even a  _ Priori Incantato _ was cast.”

“The Ministry was desperate to tie up all the loose ends after Voldemort disappeared.  They didn’t want to have to deal me.  Plus, the evidence against me was overwhelming.  They didn’t know Peter was an Animagus.  It was easier to just throw me in Azkaban and not think about it.”

“It’s not right.”

“No, it’s not.”  Sirius shrugged.  “But no use getting angry over it.  That’s what I’ve decided.”

“I still reserve the right to be angry on your behalf,” James said, pointing a determined finger Sirius’ way.  “Moony feels the same way.”

“I appreciate the sentiment.”

“And if it makes you feel any better, I am as real as you are,” James said.  He gave Sirius a half smile and reached for his coat.  “I’m going to go out and check the wards.  Care for a walk?”

Sirius agreed, downing the rest of his tea in one large gulp.

Outside it was cold, a sharp and crisp chill that promised more snow.  But neither James nor Sirius felt any considerable chill, a well placed warming charm warding against the winter temperatures.  Sirius followed James down the back porch steps and between the trees.  He turned as they walked down the stone path, watching as the trees pinched together, hiding the cabin.  They crossed the field that doubled as a makeshift Quidditch field.  James stooped to scoop up the abandoned quaffle that still laid on the ground covered in snow and chucked it into the shed.

“The wards extend out a kilometer around the cabin,” James explained as they traipsed through the woods.  “Albus and Lily designed them and the cloaking spell on the cabin.”  They walked deeper into the forest.  “I think I know how you and Harry were able to get past the wards.”

Sirius glanced at James expectantly as they walked.

“Everybody who can cross the boundaries has been keyed into the wards.  My entire family, Albus, Remus, all our friends and the Order.”  James paused.  “You...him, the other…” He broke off as his voice thickened.  “If the alternate universe theory is right, then your magical signatures will be the same.”

“It’s weird to think about,” Sirius said.  “There used to be another me.”

Sadness cast a faint shadow across James’ face.  Having this Sirius here was like missing his Sirius all over again but, at the same time, it was a second chance for him to have his friend back.

“What was he like?  Devilishly handsome, I hope?”

James laughed, a raw sound in the cold air.  “Of course.  He would have it no other way.  But he was also loyal almost to a fault, protective of my kids, a fantastic godfather.  Loved a good prank or two and was always finding himself walking into and right out of trouble.  He had been my brother in everything but blood.”

Sirius rested his hand on James’ shoulder and said nothing, there being no words adequate to say.  After a moment, James resumed walking, guiding Sirius to the edge of the Potter’s property.  He stopped walking directly between two trees.  He waved his wand, whispering a long spell.  In front of Sirius, a web of what looked like glowing threads appeared, stretching as far as one could see in all directions.  Each string shimmered a different color.  James slowly walked along the boundary, his wand illuminating the web that protected his family.  Every dozen or so steps, he would weave his wand into and out of the threads, tying them more tightly together.

Halfway around their property, James paused and stepped halfway into the wards.  He glanced at the snow covered ground, boot prints sunk into the white depths.

“Death Eaters,” he muttered.

“What?!”

“Voldemort has a general idea where we are.”  He stooped down, casting a spell over the boot prints.  “He likes to send his people out and sniff around on a regular basis.  As long as the wards are active, we’re fine.”  James stood, brushing snow off his pants.  “They’re old, at least by a week.”

Sirius stayed and stared at the foot prints as James moved on.  When Sirius didn’t follow, James turned around.  “Come on, Padfoot.”

“He’s after you here too,” he said numbly.

“Has been since before Harry was born.”

They continued and soon came upon a small house that sat within the wards, one window lit.  It was built of brick with white shutters, brown vines crawling up the sides that would turn green and lush in the summer.  Sirius’ feet crunched through the snow and dead leaf cover.

“You’re walking through Moony’s garden, Padfoot,” James commented.

“What?”  Sirius looked down and spotted the brick border surrounding what was currently a dirt and snow covered plot.  “Oh.”  He sidestepped over the bricks.

James peered into one of the windows.  Remus sat hunched over his desk, only the top of his head visible, brown hair that was streaked with grey falling over his folded arms.  A pile of books sat spilled over one half of his desk, one open before Remus but it was long since forgotten as the werewolf slept.

“Reminds me of when we’d sneak down to the library late at night to bring him back up to Gryffindor tower before Filch found him.”

James laughed softly.  “That was an almost nightly occurrence during O.W.L.S and N.E.W.T.S.  We’d drag him back up to the tower and he’d spend a couple more hours down in the common room studying more.  One time he stayed up the whole night and was so tired in Potions the next morning he fell asleep and his cauldron exploded.”

“I’d never seen Slughorn so surprised.  It blew Moony’s eyebrows straight off his face!” Sirius remembered, falling back into old patterns of conversation.

“And it took a whole month for them to grow back because he was too embarrassed to see Poppy to have them regrown overnight.”

“I always thought going with no eyebrows would have been more embarrassing,” Sirius mused for a moment and then grew extremely quiet.

James glanced at him, realization dawning on his face.  “In fifth year, what did we create?”

“The Marauder’s Map.  What did we call Moony’s transformations?”

“His furry little problem,” James answered.  “In sixth year, where did you live when not at Hogwarts?”

“With you because my parents were pureblooded arseholes.”

“During my wedding reception, what did you do to make Lily mad?”

Sirius smiled, the memory surfacing in his mind.  “I was nearly drunk off my arse when I gave my speech and I called her ‘Lily Flower.’”

“She chucked her piece of cake at you.”

“And I picked it up off the floor and ate it.”  Sirius went very quiet.

James took a deep breath.  “It makes sense,” he said.  “If the divergence between your world and mine is who we made Secret Keeper, then everything before that should logically be the same.”

The two men stood silent for several moments but then continued walking, quietly comparing notes about their years at Hogwarts.  Snow began to fall, a light flurry.  Together they worked their way through the last quarter of the wards, James tightening the threads with his wand and Sirius helping after James showed him the spell.  As they rounded an outcropping of stones, they passed by a small graveyard.  James continued on, taking care to avoid the place, but Sirius stopped, studying the two gravestones.  It was too dark to read the inscriptions, but he knew.

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” Sirius asked.  “Your Harry.”

Sirius watched James stiffen mid-cast, his wand held high.  “It’s been two years,” he said, dropping his wand arm with a sigh.

“What happened?”

“He was in his third year when Hogwarts was attacked.” 

“Oh, shit.  Prongs, I’m so sorry,” he said, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

James clenched his jaw for a moment.  “A lot of kids died that year.”  His voice caught, breathing hitching high in his throat with emotions trying to shove their way out.  “We nearly lost Sam.  He was in his first year.”

James closed his eyes, head hanging, but soon found himself enveloped in a hug.  James held on tightly as the sharp memories tore through him, Sirius repeating over and over that he was sorry.  

“Lily hasn’t been the same since, not really.  She pretends to be, but she’s just going through the motions day to day.  Sometimes I catch Em and Sam looking at us, lost in their own grief and not knowing how to deal with it.  It kills me, Padfoot, absolutely kills me.”

The words and emotions spilled out of James.  After everything that had happened over the years, the only thing he wanted right then and there was his friend.

 

OOO

 

Harry sat at the edge of his bed.  He paused for a moment, waiting to see if the room would spin as it had the last few days.  The walls and floor stayed anchored where they belonged and he sighed in relief.  Closing his eyes, he focused on just breathing, letting the heavy pull of the nightmare he’d woken up to pass.  The room was dark, the sun not having risen yet.  Harry leaned over, bracing himself with one hand on the nightstand, and tapped the lamp with his wand.  The room filled with a soft glow that Harry hoped would dispel the guilt pulling at him.

He dreamt of the Department of Mysteries, of his friends dying, their screams echoing in his ears.  It filled him with such a strong wave of emotion that it made him feel ill.  Hand pressing against his stomach, he stood and wobbled slightly, steadying himself on the nightstand.  Harry moved to the window where he could see the blackness of the sky beginning to lighten shade by shade from dark blue to lighter hues.  He rested his forehead against the glass, enjoying the sharp chill of the window.  It seemed to ease the emotion settling in his stomach, gave him something else to focus on.

Out the window, Harry watched as two figures emerged from the forest, walking side by side.  He pulled his head away from the window in alarm but then recognized his godfather walking with James.  Harry returned his head to its previous place on the window and stared down at James as they slowly walked through the trees and towards the house.

His parents here in the flesh and blood.

But they weren’t his parents, not really, and the boy and girl sleeping down the hall from him weren’t really his brother and sister.

Harry couldn’t count the number of times growing up that he wished his mother and father were alive.  His parents were the two people he longed for the most.  And now here he was in their house and all he felt inside was this horrible feeling like he was caught in a dream he would wake from any minute.

These people weren’t really his family.  He was just displaced in another universe and had no claim to them.

In the hallway outside his room, he heard a door open and shut and then soft footsteps.  Harry turned from the window, staring at the door as the steps stopped at his door.  Lily Potter liked to wake early.  Harry waited in anticipation but all he heard was her sigh and then move on.  Moments later, he heard banging around down in the kitchen as she worked on preparing breakfast, two other voices joining her.  He glanced outside, Sirius and James no longer in sight.

Heavier footsteps sounded on the stairs and then a knock at his door.  “Can I come in?” James cracked the door open.

“Yeah,” Harry answered, staring at the man warily as he entered.

James quietly entered, shutting the door behind him.  “You okay?” he asked, his eyes giving the fifteen year old a critical once over.

“Where’s Sirius?” Harry worried at the hem of his shirt.

“In the shower downstairs, I believe,” James said.

Glancing at the door, Harry shifted from one foot to the other.

“You have that look on your face like you’ve just had a nightmare,” James said.  He gestured to the bed.  “Sit down and tell me about it while I take a look at your side.”

Harry remained standing beside the window.  “How’d you know I had a nightmare?”

“You have the same look on your face that my-” James frowned and looked away.  After a moment, he had regathered his thoughts.  “Sit,” he said to Harry.

Harry obeyed, perching on the edge of the bed a good foot away from James.  He turned his head away as James pulled up the edge of his shirt.  “How does it feel?  From zero to ten, what is your pain level?”

Biting his lip, Harry winced, but turned to see what James was doing.  “Six,” he answered, watching as James inspected the healing wound. 

“Six.  That’s a high number.”

“I’m fine.”

“I’m sure you are,” James said, casting a few spells and studying the read-outs.  “But we talked about this.”

Harry looked down at his lap.  “You’re a healer?” he said, changing the subject.

James glanced up at him.  “Kind of,” he answered, allowing the change of subject.

“How can you be kind of a healer?”

The man smiled faintly.  “I used to be an official healer at St. Mungo’s, but now I’m not.”

“Why?”

James glanced at him before sighing.  “A lot of reasons,” he said.  “I still work as a healer from time to time when the Order needs me.”

Harry tensed all his muscles as James gently pressed along the jagged scar that ran beneath his ribs, grunting in pain as James found a particularly tender spot.

James looked up at Harry.  “Pretty sore, huh?”

Harry nodded, his lips pressed together at the jolt of pain.

James pulled a tin of ointment out of the pocket of his pants.  

“What’s that?”

“Healing ointment.  It’ll help ease some of the pain.”

A light scent filled the air once he pulled the lid off that reminded Harry of the hospital wing at Hogwarts.  “So, tell me about this nightmare,” he prompted as he began to gently rub the cream into the scar on Harry’s side.

Harry hesitated.

James glanced at him.  “You don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to,” he said.  “But sometimes talking helps.”

He shrugged one shoulder, staring at the wall.

Allowing the boy his silence, James continued applying the ointment.

“It was about my friends,” Harry began suddenly.  “And the Department of Mysteries.”

James nodded.  “Sirius told me what happened.”

“In my dream all my friends were dead, and it was all my fault.”

“I find it hard to believe it was entirely your fault based off what Sirius told me,” James said.

“It  _ was  _ all my fault.  That’s the thing.  I dragged my friends into a trap because I was too stubborn to properly learn Occlumency.”

“Occlumency? For a fifth year?”

“Yeah, Voldemort likes to send me dreams and thoughts and stuff.”  He rubbed at his forehead, the jagged scar oddly quiet.  “Dumbledore says Voldemort and I are linked because of my scar,” Harry said.  “So, he had Snape teach me to occlude my mind.”

“I take that it didn’t go well,” James said carefully.

The image of Snape screaming at Harry to clear his mind and to focus came to mind.  He remembered, too, the pensieve and the awful memories contained within.  

“No, it was an absolute and utter disaster.”

It had been a struggle to assimilate the image of his father he had created in his mind over the years with the one he saw in Snape’s memory.  Harry had in fact found it impossible.  Glancing at the James Potter sitting next to him, a tingle of discomfort traveled through his abdomen.  Had this version of his father been capable of such cruelty in his younger years?  

“You should know that learning Occlumency in your fifth year is a tall order.  Usually people don’t start that until at least sixth or seventh year, if at all.”

Harry said nothing, instead choosing to stare at his hands.  Even though what James said made sense, it didn’t squash the guilt and regret swirling in his stomach.

“You are a fifteen year old boy with a hell of a lot on his plate, it sounds like, who was forced into learning a magical art that was at least a year if not two ahead of his magical development.  Of course you weren’t successful.  Anybody in their right mind would not have expected you to pick up Occlumency on the first, second, or even tenth try!”

Harry shrugged.

“And then Voldemort sends you a dream of your godfather being tortured and you go and rescue him.”

“Dragging my friends into a Death Eater trap along the way,” Harry reminded.  

“You had no way of knowing that.”

“I was a fool and it was a rash decision.  I didn’t think.”

“What fifteen year old thinks before he acts?  If you find one, I’d like to meet him.”

“But if I had learned-”

“We’ve already determined your failure to learn Occlumency was not your fault,” James said.  “You can’t use that excuse anymore.  You go after your godfather because you love him and your friends come with you because they are loyal to you.”  James placed a hand on the back of Harry’s neck.  “That’s not a bad thing.”

The gesture had been a familiar and automatic one for James, but Harry immediately shied away.  James pulled his hand back, letting it drop to his lap.  He placed the lid back on the container of cream and set it on the nightstand.

“You’re going to have a nasty scar once this heals fully,” he said.

“It won’t be my first,” Harry said.

From downstairs, the smell of breakfast drifted upstairs.  Harry’s mouth watered at the smell of pancakes.  At the same time, down the hall, doors slammed and feet pounded as an argument over bathroom use began to escalate.

James stood.  “I should go and referee before one of them blows up the bathroom again,” he said and then added as an afterthought,  “You’re well enough to navigate the stairs.  You should join us for breakfast today instead of eating in your room.  Sirius would like that.”

“I’ll think about it,” Harry said.

Rooting around in his pockets, James placed a vial of potion on the night stand with specific instructions for Harry to take it before he left.

He sat and listened as he broke up the building fight between Em and Sam.  And still he waited until everyone had their turn in the bathroom and headed downstairs before he even ventured out of the room and down the hall.  He quietly shut the bathroom door behind him and stood in front of the mirror, staring at himself in the reflection.  Then, turning, he bunched up the hem of his shirt to get a look at his side.

Harry grimaced at the angry, red welt that sliced clear across the side of his body.  It throbbed slightly as he looked at it, as if it knew it was on display.  Sighing, he let his shirt fall back down before turning the water on.  He leaned over, splashing water on his face, scooping some into his hands to drink from.  Harry straightened up, turned the water off, and dried his face off with one of the towels hanging haphazardly on the rack beside the shower.  

Reaching down into his pockets, he pulled the vial of pain relief potion out and held it in his hands.  His side ached but the pain wasn’t anything he couldn’t get used to.  After everything that had happened over the last several days, it almost kept him anchored to reality.  Harry pried the cork out of the mouth of the vial, stared at the potion for a moment, and then poured it into the toilet.

Footsteps ran up the stairs and a fist pounded on the bathroom door.

“I-I’m almost done,” Harry said, hastily flushing the toilet.

“Mum wants to know if you want one or two pancakes.”

Harry cracked the door open.  “What?”

Em stood on the other side, her red hair pulled back into a messy ponytail and her hands planted on her hips.  She was still in pajamas, snitches flying across the pants.  She arched her eyebrows at Harry.

She repeated the question.  “Also, if you don’t come down soon, Sam is going to eat all the bacon and you will be sad because there will be none for you.”

Harry stared at her.

“Well?”

“Um, I’ll be right down.”

Her eyebrows arched higher.  “Pancakes?”

“Two,” he said.

She nodded, spun on her heel, and ran back downstairs.

Harry followed a moment later, slowly descending the steps one by one, his hands gripping the banister.  His legs, weak and unsteady, wobbled slightly, surprising him.  Once at the bottom of the steps, he trailed his hand along the wall for balance as he walked through the living room and appeared in the kitchen doorway, the door magically propped open.

The chaos reminded him of the times he had spent at The Burrow, people and voices intermingling in a pleasant cacophony.  Lily stood at the stove, supervising the cooking as her wand hand directed fully cooked pancakes to the table.  Em sat, her legs dangling in the chair, in anticipation of breakfast as her brother surveyed the plate of bacon spelled to stay hot.  James half stood at the table, busying himself between catching the pancakes, passing out plates and silverware, and carrying on a conversation with Sirius.  In the door leading to the mudroom, Remus stood, having just arrived, snow dusting his hair.

“Harry,” Remus said, his eyes wide in surprise as seeing the boy.

All heads turned and there was silence for a split second before Sirius ushered Harry into the kitchen, James conjuring an additional chair.  Harry sat, a plate set before him.

“It’s good to see you up,” Sirius said.  “How’re you feeling?”

“I’m okay,” he answered as two pancakes floated onto his plate.

“Do you want juice?” Lily appeared at his elbow.  “I have apple or orange.  I’m fresh out of pumpkin.”

“Um-” Harry started but was interrupted by a whooshing sound from the next room.

Lily glanced up, frowning.  “I wonder who’s just flooed in,” she said as Severus Snape strode into the kitchen.


	6. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

 

Em leapt from her seat.  “Uncle Severus!” she hollered, running towards the man.

“He’s not your uncle,” Sam interjected.  “He’s your godfather.  There’s a difference, you know.”

Severus caught the girl as she wrapped her arms around his waist.  He gave her a brief hug then gently extricated her from his black robes.  “You’re excited this morning,” he observed drily. 

Em twisted around and stuck her tongue out at her brother, blowing a raspberry at the older boy.

Lily immediately spun around, the spatula pointed at her daughter.  “Emmeline Potter, you stick your tongue out one more time and so help me, I will stick it to the roof of your mouth,” she admonished.  “We talked about this yesterday.”

Clamping her mouth shut, Em hung her head.

“Go sit down and finish your breakfast,” Severus instructed, gesturing to her empty chair and the barely eaten pancake.

As Em sat back down, Severus went to Lily, greeting her with a kiss on the cheek.  He then nodded at James and Remus, but his eyes were stuck to Sirius and Harry sitting at the table.

“I had heard,” he said.  “From Albus.”

Harry stared at the Potions Master, unsettled by the lack of disdain on his face that Harry had long grown accustomed to.  In fact, the man’s entire appearance unsettled him.  While he still had the familiar long, dark hair and black robes, his face lacked the deep lines his counterpart in Harry’s world had.  The effect softened the harshness of his face.  Harry turned to Sirius, who studied his plate with an unreadable look on his face.

“Black,” Severus said as way of greeting to the other man.

Sirius looked up and replied with a stiff nod of his head.

“What brings you for a visit?” Lily asked, conjuring an additional chair for the already crowded table.

“Order business,” he said.

“You’ll stay for breakfast, then,” she said.

“I’m afraid I can’t.  I have a potion I need to tend to,” he said, then reached into an inner pocket of his robes, extracting a small box and handed it to James.  “The potions you requested.”

“Appreciate it, Severus,” James said, setting the box on the table as it expanded to double its size as the shrinking charm wore off.  He peeked inside, the sound of glass bottles clinking together coming from inside the box.  “You remembered the blood replenisher?”

“Yes.”

“And you brewed it to be double concentrated?”

“Yes.”

“And the pain relief potion?”

He gave James an impatient look.  “I am quite familiar with how you prefer your potions.”

“Are you sure you can’t stay?” Lily asked.  “Just for a little while?”

“Yeah!” Em pipped up, one leg swinging violently under the table as she made quick work of her breakfast.  “It’s been forever since you visited.”

“I was here for Christmas,” he offered.

“But that was ages ago!”

“I have a lot of work I must tend to,” he said, “but I will visit again soon.”

“Promise?”

He gave the girl a soft smile and inclined his head.  “Of course,” he said.  “I’ll be here for your birthday in two weeks.”

“I’ll be eleven.”  Em beamed.  “You know what that means?”

Sam groaned, letting his head fall backwards.  “Yes, everyone knows.  It’s all you’ve talked about since Christmas,” he said with the pained slowness of an older brother just barely tolerating his younger sister.

Lily smoothed a hand over Em’s hair in the easy maternal way of affection.  “If you have potions to tend, then we understand, but you said something about Order business.”

“Yes,” he said.  “There’s to be an Order meeting at the Burrow in two days, Friday night at seven.  Dinner will be at six.”  He glanced at Sirius and Harry.  “All are to attend.”

Harry looked up.  The Order?  The Burrow?  They existed in this world.  But of course they would, he told himself.  The Order had been around since before he’d been born and the thought of the Burrow and the Weasley family not existing just made his heart hurt.  Aside from Hogwarts, the Burrow was his second home.

But would it still feel like home?

No, Harry decided.  They wouldn’t be his Weasleys just like James and Lily weren’t really his parents.  That put a twist in his gut and he set his fork down.

“There is one other matter,” Severus said quietly, glancing at Lily, James, and Remus.  “If we could speak somewhere in private?”

James gestured through the doorway leading to the living room.  As Severus followed Lily and Remus through, he paused and looked at Sam.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about your potions essay on the effects of doxy eggs.  It’s due tomorrow,” he said, giving the boy a particularly severe look.  “And I would like a  _ full  _ twelve inches this time.”

Sam nodded sheepishly as James raised an eyebrow at him from the doorway.

“He’ll floo it over by nine tomorrow morning, Severus,” James said.

“Very well,” the Potions Master said.

In the living room James warded the walls to allow no sound out, giving them privacy.  

“What is it, Severus?” Lily asked, concern etched on her thin face.

“There’s been-” He hesitated, glancing at the open kitchen doorway.  “There’s been a prophecy.”

Lily paled.  “Oh god.”

It speaks of-” Severus broke off again, turning his head away.

“Just tell us,” James said.  “Whatever it is.”

“It speaks of The Chosen One returning.”  He glanced again at the kitchen where the back of Harry’s head was visible.

Lily swayed slightly where she stood and James wrapped an arm around her waist but it was no use for she dropped heavily onto the couch behind her.  “Not again,” she whispered.  

James sat beside her and looked up at Severus.  “What about Vol-” He broke off, the name sticking furiously in his throat.

Remus placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder.  “Does Vol-” He was cut off by James throwing his hand up.

“Is Voldemort aware of this?” he spat out.

Severus nodded.  “He is, but he isn’t aware of its implications.” His eyes went again to the fifteen year old boy sitting in the kitchen.

“He doesn’t know they’re here,” Remus guessed, nodding his head at the kitchen doorway.

Inclining his head once, Severus continued, “But it is only a matter of time before he does.”

“But how?” Remus asked.  “This house and the surrounding property are heavily warded.”

“What ever occurred to bring them from their world to ours left a mark.  The Dark Lord will figure out what happened.”

 

OOO

 

Harry sat at the table, the rest of his breakfast untouched, as he watched the conversation in the other room that he couldn’t hear.  He had the familiar and unpleasant sensation that he was the center of their discussion.  It sent a small ripple of irritation up his back.  Beside him, Em busied herself by asking Sirius as many questions as she could think of, Sam interjecting every so often.  But Harry ignored it all.

“You alright, Harry?”

Harry looked up at Sirius.

“What?”

“You looked a million kilometers away.”

Harry shook his head.  “I’m fine,” he muttered.

His godfather gave him a long look but Harry looked away.

When they returned to the kitchen, Severus flooing back to his lab, James and Remus took Sirius outside.  Harry watched as the men left.  Lily began clearing the table, plates and glasses floating over to the sink and a charmed sponge scrubbing each dish before they ran themselves under the running water and were stacked neatly on the drying rack.  She turned to the cabinet beside the door that lead outside, opened it, and pulled out a few sheets of muggle paper and a small stack of books.

“Alright, you have a maths problem set to work on,” she said, pointing at Em before turning to Sam.  “And  _ you _ have a Potion essay to write.”

Sam groaned.  “I hate Potions.  It’s so boring.”

“It’s an important part of your magical education and will make you a well rounded wizard,” she said, pushing his Potions text towards him.  “You will write that essay for Severus and you  _ will  _ do a good job.”

Relenting grudgingly, Sam grabbed  _ Magical Drafts and Potions, Grade 3 _ from the pile and unenthusiastically opened it.

“Remember, a full-”

“Twelve inches,” he sighed, flipping through the back half of the book.  “I know.”

“Is that an attitude I hear?”

“Sorry, mum,” he muttered.

Harry stood from his chair, Lily glancing at him.  He held his glass in one hand, still half full of orange juice, that the dish cleaning spell hadn’t included.

“You alright?” she asked, noticing the paleness of his face, and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

The glass fell to the floor with a crash.

“Oh, rats,” Lily said, reaching for her wand.

“I-I’m sorry,” Harry stammered, the puddle of orange juice and glass shards scattered across the floor and his barefeet preventing him from moving away.

“Not a problem.  Don’t move, there’s glass all over.”  She siphoned the orange juice into her wand and emptied it into the sink before waving a hand, the glass shards flying back together and melting into the shape of the glass.  Lily set it in the sink.

“I’m sorry,” he said again quietly.

“It’s just orange juice,” Em said, twisting around.  “Dad always says it’s no use crying over spilled pumpkin juice.  I’m sure it’s the same for orange juice.”

Scratching the back of his head, Harry looked away.  “I’m going back upstairs,” he said.

“Are you feeling okay?” Lily leaned slightly to the side.

“Just tired,” he said.

“Of course,” she said.  “Go lie down.  If you need anything, just holler.”

Harry really was tired and felt he could easily go for a nap.  But, really, he just wanted to be alone for a while.  Back upstairs, the second floor of the cabin was quiet, a welcome and peaceful invitation.  Sunlight poured into the hallway from the open doorways, the faint winter sun spilling across the pale, wooden floorboards and dark blue carpet runner.  While Harry was tired, curiosity pulled at him and he walked down the hallway, peering into each of the rooms.  At the end of the hallway there were two closed doors.

He tried one door.  It opened easily to reveal a small office with two bookcases, a desk, and an old school trunk pushed against one wall.  Closing the door, he turned and entered the second room.  The moment Harry stepped over the threshold, he had the distinct sensation that he was somewhere forbidden.  The room was messy, obviously lived in.  However, the sunlight coming in the window illuminated dust motes floating midair.  There was a quiet stillness about the room, an air of absence.  Harry took another step into the room, his feet sinking into a deep red area rug.

A small stack of folded clothes sat at the end of the bed, waiting to be put away.  On the wall above the head of the bed Hogwarts and Gryffindor banners were hung with small charmed pins.  One of the pins had come un-charmed, the edge of the banner hanging down.  On the nightstand were a pair of wire-rimmed glasses.  Harry picked them up, trading them for his own.  The room zoomed into focus a touch better than his own glasses.  He then removed them, placed his glasses back on his face, and set them back on the nightstand.

Beside the bed a Quidditch broom sat propped against the wall.  Harry went to it, his fingers sliding against the polished wood as he read the model name.

_ Racer Series 5000 _

Picking it up, he tested the weight of the broom, admiring the sleek angles.  With the broom in hand, his magic tingled and his heart throbbed.  It had been such a long time since he had flown and holding this broom in his hands made him long for his  _ Firebolt _ .  Sighing, he returned the broom to its place against the wall.  Turning, his eyes caught movement above the desk on the other side of the room.

People smiled, waved, and laughed from a dozen photos magically tacked up on the wall.  Harry leaned closer, staring at each photo, recognizing nearly all the occupants. 

Ron Weasley sat on a broom grinning like an idiot, his red hair sun-kissed and wind-swept.  It was high summer, his skin tanned and freckles dark.  Behind him, the twins flew by waving.

His godfather relaxed on the front stoop of an unfamiliar house, his black hair styled carefully to appear messy and his beard trimmed into a goatee.  A motorcycle sat propped against the side of the steps.

A Quidditch game, players zooming in and out of the frame.  The snitch appeared for a moment before someone in deep red swooped in.

Beside it, another one of Sirius sitting mid-air on a broom.  Beside him, a boy with black hair.  The bright sunlight cast their forms in shadow.  They had their backs to the camera but they hovered close together, Sirius’ head leaning over as if they were talking.  His hand came up and ruffled the boy’s hair.

A group of friends, all wearing Hogwarts robes, with their arms thrown around each other.  Harry leaned closer recognizing Ron, Neville, Ginny, Dean, Luna, and Seamus.  In the center was Harry himself, grinning and waving like mad.  

Reaching up, he pulled the photo off the wall.  It came away easily with a barely audible pop.  He stared at the photo, at his own face.  A cold wave of unease washed over him.  At one point in time, a version of him had existed.  Had existed, gone to Hogwarts, made the same group of friends, played Quidditch, and loved the same godfather.  Harry dropped the photo onto the desk to land among the school books, letters, and rolls of parchment.

The photos were like his own memories, but memories that didn’t belong to him.

He stepped away from the desk, and in that motion, caught sight of something peeking out of the closet, the door left ajar a long time ago and never closed.

Harry went to the closet and pushed the door open.  Hanging on the hook just inside the door was his invisibility cloak.

No, not his.  The other Harry’s cloak.

He reached up for it and pulled it from the hook.  It had the same silky texture as his own cloak, the fabric running through his fingers like water.  He lifted the cloak with the intention to throw it around his shoulders but was cut short by an angry voice.

“What are you doing in here?!”

Harry jumped, yelping as his side pulled painfully, scrambling backwards, his elbow banging jarringly against the closet door.  The invisibility cloak fell to the floor in a puddle of silk.

Lily strode forward and picked up the cloak and held it to her chest.  “Get out,” she said, glancing at the door.  “Please, just get out.”

“I-I’m...I-” He stammered.

She pointed at the open doorway.  “Please, just go.”

Harry did just that, stuttering an apology as he left the room in a rush.  Distantly, he heard Lily begin to cry.  Once back in his room at the other end of the hall, he sank down on the edge of his bed, his back to the door.  Harry took several deep breaths.  Fatigue began settling in and Harry remembered just how tired he felt.

 

OOO

 

A touch on his back woke him with a start.  Eyes wide, Harry twisted around, his heart pounded with the fading remnants of a dream.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s okay,” he said hesitantly.

Lily sat on the edge of his bed, her hand absently smoothing out the folds in the blankets.  Harry watched her warily.  Finished flattening out the wrinkles in his blankets, he looked up at him and smiled warmly at him.

“I want to apologize for yelling earlier,” she said.  “I overreacted.”

“It’s okay,” he repeated.

“No, it’s not.”  Lily shook her head.  “It’s not okay.  I frightened you and that is the last thing I want to do,” she said, looking up and meeting his stare, green eyes to green eyes.  “Are you okay?”

Harry nodded silently.

Lily reached forward to take his hand, hesitated briefly as Harry tensed, but then went through with the gesture.  Her touch was light, gentle.  Harry stared down at it.

“I loved him so, so much,” she said.  “I miss him terribly with each day.”

Tentatively, he glanced at her.  Lily regarded him tearfully, but with an intensity that left him wanting…wanting  _ something _ .  

Lily squeezed his hand.  “And I just know that she loved you too, loved you so much.”

“I know.”  His words were quiet.  “People tell me.”

“I just wanted you to know,” she said.  “I know she died when you were very young.”

He scratched his arm, his eyes running along the patterns stitched into the blanket.

“I’m not her,” Lily continued.  “I know that.  But I am sure if she and I are even a tiny bit alike, then she loved you more than life itself.”

Harry nodded, Lily removing her hand from his.

“It’s important you know that.”

“I know.”

Smiling, Lily stood.  “Dinner's almost ready,” she said.  “Be down in ten minutes.”

“Dinner?”

“Yeah, you slept right through lunch.”

“I did?”

Someone laughed in the doorway.  “James was up here twice checking to make sure you were still breathing.” Sirius stood, arms crossed and amusement curling his mouth into a smile.  He entered the room.

“I’m fine,” Harry said, ducking out of the way of Sirius’ hand as his godfather tried to mess up his hair.

“Of course you’re fine.  You’re always fine,” he said, reaching one hand forward and then the other, grasping for Harry’s head.  “Oh, like it could get any worse,” Sirius admonished, finally succeeding.

Lily laughed.  “Potter hair,” she said.  “There’s nothing you can do.”

“Did I just hear you say there was nothing to be done about Potter hair?” James stuck his head in the doorway.  He gave Harry a once over and then nodded.  “Yep, they’re right.  You just have to make the most of it.”  He stepped into the room.  “How are you?”

Harry opened his mouth, but James stopped him.

“You are banned from answering with ‘fine’.”

He sighed, long and drawn out with dramatics, but complied.  “I’m a little tired, but...um, okay.”

“Hungry?”

Harry nodded.

“That's good,” James said.  “How’s the pain?”

Harry thought for a moment.  “It’s a four.”

James studied him for a moment before deciding his answer was acceptable and set another vial of pain relief potion on his nightstand.

From downstairs, a chorus of rising voices escalated in an argument over what sounded like a game of Exploding Snap.

“You want to referee or me?” James asked.

“I’ll go,” Lily said, standing.  “I have to check on dinner anyways.”

From downstairs, something exploded as someone shrieked at the top of her lungs.

“I’ll help,” James said.  “Em’s accidental magic has been rather volatile lately.”

Sirius remained.  “So, how are you doing?” he asked, sitting down beside Harry and wrapping an arm around the boy’s shoulders.

“I said-”

“No, not that,” Sirius said.  “How are you taking everything?”

Harry shrugged.

“I’m glad you’re getting a chance to get to know James and Lily.”

“But they’re not  _ really _ my parents,” Harry said.  “My parents are dead.”

“I know,” Sirius said, squeezing Harry’s shoulder.  “But they’re the people your parents could have been.  They’re still James and Lily.”

They sat together and talked as James’ voice carried up the stairs, scolding and casting repair spells in one fluid stream of speech as Lily could be heard banging around in the kitchen, the smells of lasagna drifting up the stairs soon after.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

 

Harry woke two mornings later with a startled yelp, his hand flying to his forehead.  Sitting up, he rubbed at his scar, but the sharp stabbing pain that had woken him had disappeared.  It was dawn, the sun rising above the trees outside.  Turning to sit at the edge of the bed, Harry stared at the floor and focused on his scar.

Nothing.

It gave him no pain, twinge, ache, or even an itch.  The scar was silent and Harry wondered if it had even pained him moment’s earlier or if it had just been a dream.  Outside his room, he heard Lily, always awake early, make her way down the hallway.  As she had each morning, she paused at his door.  Harry turned his head around.

A quiet knock sounded on the door.

“Yeah?”

“I saw your light on,” Lily said, entering his room.  “You’re up early.”

Harry shrugged one shoulder.  “Couldn’t sleep,” he said.

“Anything bothering you?”

“Not really.”   _ Everything _ , he thought.

“Care to give me a hand with breakfast?” she asked.

Agreeing, Harry followed Lily downstairs.  In the living room on the couch a large black dog slept on his back with his legs in the air, snoring loudly.  On the coffee table, which had been pushed at an off angle causing the rug to bunch up, a half empty bottle of Firewhiskey sat.  Lily pushed the table back into position with her knee and straightened the rug out.

“I wish he wouldn’t transform in the house,” she muttered, plucking tufts of coarse, brown hair out of the rug.

In the kitchen, Lily went for the back door, opened it, and blew the mound of stag hair out into the chilly morning.  On the counter, a torn bit of parchment sat, weighed down with an empty potion vial.  Harry picked up the vial and read the label,  _ Sober-Up _ , before handing the note to Lily.

“I think this is for you,” he said.

Lily took the note and read it quickly.  She then set it down on the counter as she pulled out a frying pan.  “James’ been called away on an emergency,” she said, setting the scrap of parchment down on the counter.

There were dishes in the sink from the previous night.  Lily tapped the sink with her wand, a magical sponge appearing and going to work on the half dozen glasses and small stack of plates.  “I’ve realized you’ve been in my house for over a week and I don’t know anything about you,” she said.

“What do you want to know?” he asked.

Lily smiled at him.  “Who is your best friend?”

“Ron Weasley.”  Harry fidgeted where he stood.

Lily noted Harry worrying at the hem of his shirt.  The fabric was worn and the shirt had once belonged to Sam.  “Can you see how many eggs we have?”  She gestured at the fridge with one hand.

Harry pulled open the door.  

“We’ll be at the Weasley’s this evening,” she said, using a damp cloth to wipe crumbs from the counter.  She knew if James were to see her he’d comment on the fact that she was a witch and had magical powers to help with the cleaning.  But Lily had always found the muggle methods of cleaning to be calming.

Harry pushed a few things around in the fridge. “I know,” he said.

“Are you nervous?” she asked.

Harry looked at Lily over the top of the fridge door.  “I don’t know,” he said.  Half the night he’d spent awake wondering what this world’s version of Ron - and Ginny, Hermione, Neville - would be like.  “I don’t really know how to feel.  I mean, it’s Ron, but it isn’t.”

Lily studied the boy, his thin frame and the mop of black hair, wild from sleep.  He  _ was  _ Harry, but she was increasingly coming to accept that he was not  _ her  _ Harry. That fact created a war within her, her mothering instincts wanting to love and care for the boy, but the large ball of grief screamed at her to stay away, that it would be too painful.

Harry closed the fridge.  “I don’t see any eggs.”

Pointing at the fridge, Lily gathered the now clean dishes from the sink.  “Check the door.”

Turning, he opened the fridge again and found the eggs on the top shelf.  He counted five.

“Rats,” Lily said, her hands on her hips.  “I was going to make scrambled but there aren’t enough.”  She bit her lip and tapped her toe in thought.  “Well, people are just going to have to be happy with pancakes again until I can go shopping.”

“I’ll be happy with pancakes.”  Sirius appeared in the kitchen, his hair sleep-tousled and dark rings beneath both eyes.  He squinted his eyes.

“You’d be happy with anything,” Harry said, his hand on the fridge door. “As long as it was edible.”

His godfather laughed in agreement, kissing the top of Harry’s head before turning to Lily.  “James wanted you to know-”

“He left a note,” she said.  “Some sort of emergency.”

“Shacklebolt firecalled in the middle of the night.  Sounded bad,” he said.

“Well, I’m sure we’ll find out more tonight at the Order meeting.”

Sirius shuffled off to the bathroom just between the kitchen and mudroom, muttering about his pounding head and his immediate need for a headache potion and a hot shower.

“What about french toast?” Harry asked.

“What?” Lily asked in confusion.

“You don’t have enough eggs for scrambled, but five is enough for french toast.  Plus you have milk.”

Lily tilted her head to the side.  “You cook?”

“I did a lot of the cooking growing up,” he said.

Lily frowned.  “My sister raised you, didn’t she?”

Nodding, Harry studied the window above the sink, the world outside lightening as the sun continued to rise.  Harry glanced at Lily.  When she spoke it was quietly, almost hesitantly. 

“Petunia never liked magic.  When we were young, we were close. But then I got my Hogwarts letter.”  Lily smiled softly, looking at Harry.  “I think she was jealous that I was magic and she was just ordinary.  Overtime she grew bitter.  I hope that she showed you kindness and love growing up, and that she let go of her bitterness.”

“She was okay,” Harry said, reaching into the fridge for the carton of milk.

Lily watched as he turned away, studying his hunched shoulders and the way he avoided looking at her.   _ She was okay _ , she thought, the few words leaving so much to be desired.  She stood back as he set the carton of milk down on the counter beside the eggs  before grabbing for the half loaf of bread.  When he went searching for the frying pan, she put a stop to it.

“You don’t have to make breakfast, Harry.”  She gently took the pan from him, reaching up into a cabinet for a mixing bowl.

“I don’t mind,” he said.  “Plus, I thought I was helping you.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Really, I don’t mind,” he said.  “I want to help.”  He looked at Lily with wide green eyes, a bubble of emotion rising in him.  It was both familiar and foreign, a desire deeply rooted in him.  He  _ wanted _ to be in this kitchen, helping this woman who was both in a way his mother and not his mother.

She considered him for a moment and the nodded.  “Alright,” she said.  “You can crack those eggs in this bowl and I’ll get the pan warmed up.”

 

OOO

 

James returned a little before lunch.  Stumbling out of the fireplace, he headed straight for the downstairs bathroom, mumbling a greeting to Sirius and Harry sitting together on the couch and ruffling his children’s hair as they worked on their schoolwork at the kitchen table.  His clothing was dirty and streaked with blood and all he wanted was a hot shower and a nap.

Out of the shower, he made his way up the stairs, legs full of lead, and was just about to fall into bed when he stopped, concern spreading across his face.

“What’s wrong?”

Lily opened her eyes.  “Huh?”

“It’s been months since you’ve had one of these days,” he said, easing himself down on the mattress beside her.  Healing, particularly the frantic, life-saving sort, often left him feeling drained.

“I just needed some time to myself,” she said, scooting closer to her husband.  “How was your emergency?”

“Awful.”

“Who was it?”

“Alexa Finnigan.  Got in the way of a nasty  _ Sectumsempra _ .” James closed his eyes.  “It was a mess.”

“Oh God, did someone tell her husband?”

He nodded.

Lily rubbed at her face. “It never ends, does it?”

James gently wiped at Lily’s face where tears had fallen.  He took her hands in his. “Why are you in bed in the middle of the day?” he asked.

She sighed and closed her eyes.

“Did something happen?”

She frowned.  “I don’t know.”

“What is it?”

“It’s-” Lily began, but then shook her head, pulling her hands out of James’ hold.  “I don’t know.  I think I’m just misjudging the behavior of someone I feel I know.”

“Harry?” he guessed.

She nodded.  “Have you noticed anything off about him?”

“Other than the fact he’s our son from another universe?”

Lily glowered at him.

James gave her an apologetic look.  “What’s bothering you?”

Lily explained their conversation from that morning.  “He wouldn’t look me in the eye.  You just should have seen him, James.  He was so uncomfortable.”

Breathing in deeply, James exhaled.  “I’ve noticed some things, but I wasn’t sure if I was just overthinking the behavior of a boy we think we know but really don’t.”  He paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts.  “At first I thought it was because he was in so much pain, but I’m not so sure anymore.  Then I thought it was because he doesn’t know us and isn’t comfortable with us yet, but he does it with Sirius sometimes.”

“Do you think Sirius knows?”

James shook his head.  “I don’t know.  I’m not even sure if he realizes what is going on.  From what I’ve gathered, even though they’re both really close, the actual physical time together that they’ve had since he escaped Azkaban has been minimal.”

“He’s been either at Hogwarts or in that house the majority of the time.”   _ That house. _  Lily pressed her fingers against her forehead where it had begun to throb.  “What was Dumbledore thinking?  I can only assume the versions of ourselves from Harry’s universe had the same will detailing custodial rights if we were to die.”

James went to pull her fingers away from her face but was quickly caught up in a yawn.

“You should sleep,” Lily said.

“I’ll talk with Sirius,” James said, closing his eyes.

Lily kissed him on the forehead.  “I’ll wake you before the Order meeting tonight.”

 

OOO

 

Harry stood in the living room as Lily yelled up the stairs.  

“Em, get a move on,” she called.

His scar itched, prickling uncomfortably.  He rubbed at it.

“Just a minute!”

“She’s tearing her room up,” Sam said, coming down the stairs.

“Am not!  I had to get something.”  Em hurtled down the stairs, skipping the last two and nearly running into James as he came out of the kitchen.

“Whoa, bludger on the loose,” he said, catching his daughter with one arm.  In his other hand he carried an old metal canister that used to hold tea leaves.  He glanced at Lily.  “Remus is running late.  He’ll floo over in a bit.”

A hand came to rest on Harry’s shoulder, squeezing gently.  He turned around, Sirius smiling down at him.  A smidgen of anxiety rose and nestled in Harry’s chest.  James popped the lid off the canister and passed it around.

“You alright?” his godfather asked, his eyes flicking to his forehead.

Harry dropped his hand, his scar going quiet.  “Fine.”

“Everyone, take a handful,” he instructed.

The old tea tin came around and Harry took pause.  “Why’s it blue?” he asked.

“It’s a closed floo system,” James explained.  “Our house is no longer on the regular floo network.  Far too dangerous these days.”

At the fireplace, Lily lit a fire with her wand and took Em by the hand.  The girl resisted.

“I’m old enough to floo by myself, you know!  I’m almost eleven.”

Sam snorted.  “You’re still ten for two more weeks.”

Em spun around to give her brother a piece of her mind, but a quick tap on her shoulder from Lily had her spinning back around, her eyes shooting daggers into the fire.

“That’s enough,” Lily said.  “You go on your own, Em, and I’ll follow right behind.  Now, make sure you say The Burrow clearly.”

Reaching into the tin, Em grabbed a handful of powder, threw it into the fire.  The fire turned an iridescent blue and she was soon whisked away.  Lily followed along with Sam and then James, Sirius, and Harry.

Harry emerged from the fireplace in a familiar sitting room, stumbling forward.  Sirius’ hand on his shoulder steadied him.  The sitting room of the Burrow adjoined the kitchen through a large entryway.  That night, the entryway was widened dramatically, making room for a long table to extend from the kitchen through the sitting room.  People crowded the small but cozy space, engaged in conversations with each other.  When Harry arrived, all talk stopped and he had the unpleasant experience of at least a dozen sets of eyes turning towards him.

Across the room, a pretty girl with red hair Harry recognized set the table, placing mismatched plates at each chair.  She looked up as Harry came out of the fireplace.  Her face paled slightly and she paused in the middle of placing a plate down on the table, frozen as if she had seen a ghost.  Em ran up to her, pulling a magazine out of the inside pocket of her good robes she had insisted on wearing, her face lit up in excitement as she began talking, flipping pages and pointing.  The girl looked down as Em tugged on her arm, but her eyes kept gravitating up to Harry.

“Ginny, dear, have you finished yet?” Mrs. Weasley came bustling out of the kitchen, a dishrag in hand, but when she saw Harry and Sirius standing in her sitting room, she came to a surprised halt, the dishrag falling to the floor.  “Oh,” she said, stooping to pick it up before hurrying over to them, enveloping both of them in a hug.  “It’s good to see your faces.”  She pulled away and began fussing over them.  “I mean, I know you’re not the Harry and Sirius we used to know, but it’s nice to see a familiar face again.”  Tears brimmed in her eyes and she hugged both of them again and then seemed to remember her manners.  “Oh, how silly of me.  I’m not even sure if you know who I am.  I’m Mrs. Weasley.  You are both most welcome in my home.”

Sirius smiled at the woman.  “It’s good to see you too, Molly.  I know Harry has many fond memories of your house.”

“I usually spend a few weeks each summer at your...I mean at the other Mrs. Weasley’s house...um, I mean in my world.”  He frowned, scratching at the back of his head.

Propping her hands on her plump waist, Molly shook her head.  “Such strange business.  A whole other universe!  I didn’t believe it when Arthur told me.  None of us did.  But here you are!”  She smiled warmly at Harry. “So, you spend part of your summer here at The Burrow?  That must mean you’re friends with my children.”

“Ron’s been my best friend since first year.”

“Well, that settles it.  Everybody is up stairs.”  She turned to Ginny who was looking at the magazine Em had brought, the pictures showing tiny figures flying around on broomsticks.  “Gin, darling, show Harry upstairs.  Introduce him to everybody.”

Ginny stared at him with trepidation before moving towards the rickety staircase.  Harry followed along with Em as Sirius and James went to speak with a tall, black man in the corner of the room and Lily joined Molly back in the kitchen.

The Burrow was just as Harry remembered, the house a jumble of rooms and stairs held up with copious amounts of magic.  At the top most floor, Ginny lead them down a short hallway.  Harry could hear voices behind the halfway closed door.  She pushed the door open and sat down on the corner of the bed.  Harry stood in the doorway as Em pushed past him, plopping down crossed-legged on the floor beside the bed.  The walls of the room were a familiar shade of orange with a few Chudley Cannon posters spelled to stick to the walls.  However, the people were the most familiar.  A red headed boy, his face full of freckles.  A girl with blond hair and a far-off look on her face.  Across the room, another red headed boy, older than the other.  Beside him, a boy with brown hair.  The older red headed boy hurried to hide a length of parchment as the brown haired boy quickly slid a small box behind him.

“Er, hi,” Harry said.

The younger red headed boy, who sat at the head of his bed, leaned over.  “Blimey, you look just like him!”

Ginny reached over and smacked her brother upside his head.  “Ron, what’s wrong with you?”

“Ow,” he exclaimed, rubbing at the back of his head.  “What’d you do that for?”

Giving Harry a sidelong glance, he regarded her brother harshly.  “You have no tact,” she said.  “And don’t make me hex you.”

“Alright, alright, Gin-Gin.”

Ginny drew her wand and pointed it at her brother threateningly.

Ron held up his hands in surrender, his eyes staring at the business end of his sister’s wand.

Harry began to laugh, the scene between Ron and Ginny too similar to what he was used to in his world.  Ron and Ginny stopped and stared at Harry as did the five other people in the room.  “Some things never change,” he said.

The blond haired girl, who sat on an old trunk beside the bed, scooted over.  “You can sit next to me,” she said.  “I’m Luna Lovegood.”  She extended her hand.

Harry took it.  

The boy on the other side of him smiled at him.  “I’m Neville and that’s George.”  He directed a thumb at the older Weasley boy.

“I know,” he said and then looked at everyone in the room.  “I know all of you.”

Luna regarded him oddly.  “You have a curse scar.”

As if on reflex, Harry reached up, combing his unruly hair over his forehead.  “I’ve had it since I was a baby.”

She frowned, her eyes glazing over as if she were looking in on something the others couldn’t see.  “You-Know-Who gave it to you on the night your parents were killed.”

Neville looked up.  “Voldemort,” he said quietly.  “Remember what Professor Dumbledore says.”

Luna’s eyes snapped back into focus and she flinched.

“Fearing his name only gives him more power,” Neville said quietly, almost gently.  He placed a hand on Luna’s back.

“Is it true, then?” Ron leaned over.  “Did you really survive the killing curse?”

“Of course it’s not true!  Nobody survives the killing curse,” Ginny said.

“Yeah, it is.  I heard Charlie and Tonks talking the other night when Mad-Eye Moody came over.  They said  _ he  _ survived the killing curse.”  He jabbed a finger towards Harry.

“It’s true,” Harry said.

All eyes turned to him.

“They call me The-Boy-Who-Lived.”

“But how?”  Ginny frowned, her voice strained with emotion.  “Nobody has ever survived.”

George looked away, his fingers playing with the hem of his shirt.

“My mum sacrificed herself for me,” he said, shrugging.  “The curse bounced off me and hit Voldemort.”

Ron’s eyes widened incredulously.   _ “Bounced _ off of you?”

“Yeah,” he said.

An uncomfortable silence fell upon the group.  They stared at Harry in disbelief.  Harry looked away in discomfort, studying his fingers.  He felt a distinct desire to blend into the walls, despite their color.

“So, is there Hogwarts where you’re from?”

Harry looked up.  Neville regarded him frankly and Harry smiled gratefully.  “Yeah,” he said.  “There’s Hogwarts.”

“What house are you in?”

“Gryffindor,” Harry answered. 

“Of course he’s in Gryffindor,” Ron said to Neville.

“The hat almost put me in Slytherin.”

Ron’s mouth hung open.  “It did not!”

“It wanted to put me there but I asked to be put in Gryffindor.”

“You asked?!” Ginny laughed.  “I didn’t know you could do that.”

Harry shrugged.  “I didn’t want to be in Slytherin.”

Ron scowled.  “I mean who would?”

“Malfoy, maybe,” Neville said.

“Blo-” Ron yelped as Ginny whacked him on the arm.

“What about Quidditch?” Ginny asked.

“Quidditch?” Ron straightened up.

“I play seeker for Gryffindor,” Harry said.

“He did too” Ron said, Ginny smacking him on the arm.  “Ow!”

“You can talk about him,” Harry said.

Ginny glanced at Em and Sam who both studied the floor.  Sam picked at a knot in the floorboards, his eyebrows furrowed together.

“‘M sorry,” Ron mumbled.

“Nobody talks about him,” Em said suddenly, her words bursting out of her mouth.  “Or if they do, they act like they’re doing something wrong.” She looked at Sam.  “I don’t want to not talk about my brother.”

Sam made an angry noise in the back of his throat, stood, and strode out of the room.  He slammed the door as he left, it banging against the doorjamb.

Biting her lip, Em tucked her chin into her chest.  Ginny scooted off the bed and sat down beside her.

“Is it weird being here?” Neville asked.

Harry turned to Neville.  “A bit,” he said, and then reconsidered his answer. “Ok, it’s more than a bit weird.”

“Barmy, really,” Ron said.

Harry laughed.  “Yeah.”  He ran his hand through his hair.  “It’s probably the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“It’s strange sitting here looking at you,” Luna said.

“It’s strange for me too!”

“Are we your friends back in your world?” Ron asked.

Harry nodded.  “You’re all my friends back home.  Ron, you’ve been my best friend since the train ride first year, along with Hermione.”  A thought occurred to him as the photos tacked to the wall above this universe’s Harry’s desk surfaced in his mind.  A dozen smiling faces all waving back at him, Harry having recognized all of them.  But one had been missing he realized belatedly.  He glanced around at everybody, a frown forming on his face.  “Speaking of Hermione, where is she?”

Ron frowned.  “Who?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to comment on a small aspect of this story which has been hinted at in previous chapters but now James and Lily are noticing. I had always thought, considering how the Dursleys treated Harry growing up (I mean, they made him sleep in a cupboard...a freaking cupboard!) that pushing and knocking him around wasn't out of the question for them. I never thought they outright beat him, but the occasional smack or shove wouldn't be out of character. So, consider this fanfic as containing mentions of mild child abuse.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight**

Harry gave Ron a funny look.  “Hermione Granger,” he said slowly.  “Muggleborn witch with brown, bushy hair?  Smartest witch in our year.”  He glanced around at the people sitting around him.  “Always has her nose in a book?”  

They all shifted uncomfortably, Ron and Ginny avoiding his eye contact while George studied the floor.

“What?” he asked.  “What are you not telling me?”

Neville shrugged.  “We don’t know her.  She didn’t go to Hogwarts,” he said quietly.

From downstairs, Mrs. Weasley announced dinner, her voice magically amplified to reach the teenagers several floors up.

“Dinner!” Ron exclaimed, making a quick exit.

Ginny rolled her eyes.  “He’s like a walking stomach,” she said, Em following her out the door, close by her side.

“I find it endearing,” Luna mused on her way out.  

Harry hung back and was the last to leave, his mind too occupied with the whereabouts of a brown-haired witch.  He knew, wherever this universe’s Hermione was, she wasn’t  _ his _ Hermione, but Harry needed to know.  It mattered to him.

He made his way down the stairs and stopped at the last landing, his eyes widening at the number of people packed into the Burrow.  Half were already seated at the massive table and the other half were standing around, drinks in hand, talking with each other.  Dishes of food magically floated out from the kitchen, setting themselves down on the table, steam rising from them.  Harry spotted Sirius across the room where he was deep in conversation with Mad-Eye Moody.  Sensing his godson’s eyes on him, Sirius looked up.  Saying parting words to the old, scarred Auror, Sirius wove his way through the crowd.

“Quite the gathering, huh?” he said.  “I can’t say our Order meetings, even during the first war, were ever this large.”  He tilted his head to the side.  “You okay?”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” Harry grumbled.

“Because you look like someone just told you that you failed all your O.W.Ls.”

“Well I wish people would stop it.”  He balled his fists up.

Sirius took Harry gently by the shoulder and guided him back up a few steps.  They sat down beside each other.

“What’s eating you?” Sirius asked quietly.

“Hermione,” he said.

“You know, I haven’t seen her here.  With how you, Ron, and her were so close back home, I half expected her to be here.”

“Nobody knows who she is,” Harry said.  “I asked and they said she didn’t go to Hogwarts.”

Sirius watched as concern paled Harry’s face.  “Well, maybe she went to a different school.  This is a different universe.  A lot is the same, but there’s a lot that is very, very different.”

“Yeah,” he muttered.

“Tell you what, I’ll talk to James and Moony and see if they can look into it and find out what happened to her,” Sirius said.

Harry nodded.  “Yeah, ok.”

“Well, I’m starving, let’s go find our seats.”

Harry hesitated.

“What is it?”

“I feel like I’m on display.  Everybody’s staring at me,” he said.  “I don’t like it.”

The older man nodded, leaning in towards his godson.  “Kind of makes you feel like you’re living in a fishbowl.  It’s driving me a little mad too.  But I figure, if it was the reverse and James and Lily found themselves in our world, it’d be the same for them.  We’re a bit of a novelty, Harry, and novelty eventually wears off.”

James peeked around the corner of the staircase.  “Oh, there you two are,” he said.  “Sirius, you’re sitting with Lily and I.  Harry, you’ll be down at the end of the table with the kids.”  He paused for a moment, studying the boy who sat on the stairs, his knees drawn up.  “You ok-”

Sirius held up his hand.  “We’re fine,,” he said, giving the other man a pointed look.  

A look of understanding passed between the two men, already the two accustomed to comprehending what the other didn’t say.  James nodded and left.

Harry turned and regarded his godfather.  He understood, for the first time, that what he was going through and the difficulties it was causing him, his godfather was experiencing the exact same thing.

Sirius clapped Harry on the knee and stood.  “Alright, I think dinner is just about ready.  And if my nose is telling me right, she’s made a shepherd's pie.”

 

OOO

 

Harry sat at the end of the table between Ron and Em.  Ron had quickly engaged him in conversation about Quidditch once the two boys established a common interest.

“See, what nobody understands about the Chudley Cannons is that they were true underdogs.”  He nodded, speaking between bites of food.

“Oh, please,” Ginny said from across the table.  “The Chudley Cannons’ approach to strategy was to just hope for the best.”

Ron bristled.  “They were just in a rough patch.”

“Yes, a rough patch since 1892.”

Ron’s Quidditch conversation with Harry dissolved into an argument with his sister and Harry returned to his dinner, picking at his food on his plate.  Mrs. Weasley’s shepherd’s pie was really delicious, but he found that he lacked an appetite.  He glanced down the table at the rest of the adults eating and talking amongst themselves.  Every now and then, one would glance at him and Harry would look away.  Before dinner had begun, he’d been introduced to a dozen different Order members, many Harry recognized.

Albus Dumbledore sat at the head of the table, his robes glittering slightly.  On his right sat Professor McGonagall and on the other side Kingsley Shacklebolt, the three of them deep in discussion.  Down the table Sirius sat beside James and Lily, Remus across from them.  They were engaged in conversation with Mad-Eye Moody and a man Harry hadn’t known but was introduced to him as Frank Longbottom.  Closer to Harry’s end of the table, Charlie Weasley sat beside Tonks, his arm comfortably across the back of her chair.  The young woman, her hair a radiant shade of pink, entertained Em by changing the shape of her ears and eyes.  She had approached Harry the moment she spotted him, introducing herself as, “Tonks, and only Tonks, never Nymphadora,” and immediately started talking about the Weird Sisters.  He had been taken aback for the smallest moment but had found it refreshing to talk with someone who didn’t just stare at him.

“Do the thing with your eyes again,” Em said.

Harry watched as Tonks’ eyes changed color rapidly, flickering between a rainbow of shades.

Em giggled and beside her Sam watched Tonks with amusement that he tried to hide.  Tonks let her eyes return to their natural states and she turned to Harry, her ears growing tall and elvish.  She wiggled them both at him and he couldn’t help but laugh.  She smiled, satisfied, and turned to Charlie as he whispered something in her ear.  His arm slid down to her waist as their foreheads touched.  Harry spotted the glitter of a ring on her right hand.

As dinner came to a close, Albus Dumbledore stood up.  He folded his napkin and set it down on his plate.  Picking up his glass of wine, he tapped the side with his butter knife.  The dinner chatter died down and heads turned towards the old wizard.

“I would like to begin tonight with a moment of remembrance for those we have lost and for those who have fallen.  They will forever be in our thoughts and memories.”

Heads bowed and the table was cast in silence.  Dumbledore folded his hands and closed his eyes, his face peaceful.  James wrapped an arm around Lily and took Remus’ hand as Sirius placed a hand on James’ shoulder.  Arthur took his wife’s hand, squeezing it reassuringly as Molly wept silently.  Frank Longbottom met his son’s eyes down the table.  Across the table from Harry, Sam glared a hole in the table, his fists clenched in his lap.

Dumbledore opened his eyes and regarded the Order with solemn eyes.  “A muggle man once said, ‘Hope is being able to see that there is light despite all of the darkness.’  He fought, as we do now, against a great evil.  There is darkness in the world, and we’re living in it.  But to give up hope, is to give up on humanity.  We must persevere to bring light again to our world.”  He paused, clear blue eyes roaming down the table, touching upon each person sitting at the table.  When he reached Harry, he rested his gaze on the boy.  “I am certain you have met our two guests tonight.”  He gestured with both hands down the table at Sirius and Harry.

Heads turned again, glancing at the two familiar yet foreign newcomers.

“There is still hope in this world, hope that this war will soon come to an end.”

Harry looked away, fiddling with the edge of his napkin in his lap.

The solemnity of Dumbledore’s eyes lifted and he regarded Molly Weasley with appreciation.  “Now, I must give my utmost thanks for a most delicious dinner.  I can’t remember the last time I had a shepherd's pie so delicious.”

Molly blushed and waved her hand dismissively.

With dinner finished, people pushed their chairs back and stood.  Molly waved her wand, a half dozen dishes rising from the table and floating towards the kitchen.  She looked over her shoulder.  “Ron, Ginny, please help,” she said.

Lily gave Sam and Em a pointed look.  Neville stood and gathered his dishes up along with Luna’s, who thanked him softly.  Ron groaned, growing limp in his chair until Ginny gave him a shove.

“Help, you lazy oaf,” she said.

Harry stood and followed suit, placing his fork and knife on his plate.  The kitchen was a mad mess of people and Harry stood in the center of it.  Molly stood at the sink as Lily directed people where to place their dishes.  Lily gave Harry a smile and a light squeeze on his arm as he handed her his plate.

“Enjoy dinner, did you?”

He nodded and then looked to his left.  “Thank you, Mrs. Weasley, for dinner.”

“Oh, you’re welcome, dear,” she said before glancing at the group of children as a whole.  “Now, you all are to go upstairs during the meeting and no listening in.”  She wagged her finger at Ron and Ginny.  “None of you are of age yet.”

“I  _ am _ of age,” George protested.

Molly appeared as if she were about to cry.  “You’re not finished with your schooling yet,” she said softly.  “When you’re finished with your studies then-” She looked away.

George immediately backed down.  Lily placed a hand on the red-headed woman’s back but she shook her head, blinking back tears as she took George’s head and planted a kiss on his temple.  “I’m just not ready for you to be grown yet,” she said.

He clenched his jaw.  “You can’t escape it,” he said gently.

“I know, but I want just a little more time.” Her face, softened with love for her children.  “Alright, now upstairs you go.”

 

OOO

 

The meeting began soon after dinner was cleared away.  Harry sat on the stairs as Ginny and Ron pressed themselves against the wall.  Neville and Luna sat below Harry.

“Can you hear anything?” Em asked, pressed up against Ginny’s side.

“Shh,” Ginny said, waving her hand at the younger girl.  She squinted her eyes, turning her head slightly.  After a moment she sighed.  “Nothing.  I think they  _ silencioed _ the kitchen.”

“Bugger,” Ron swore.

Ginny swatted at Ron.  “Language,” she said, nodding at Em.

“I’m almost eleven.”  Em frowned.  “I know the word bugger,” she said.  “I also know bloody and shite.”

“Mum hears you she’ll spell soap into your mouth,” Sam warned, rounding the corner and quietly descending the steps.  He held something pale and fleshy in one hand.  

Hands on her hips, she arched her eyebrows.  “Well, I also know piss and arse and fu-”

Ginny whipped around.  “Hey!”

“We teaching Emmy-bean swears now?” George rounded the corner, a box in his hand.  “Do you know bugger?”

Em stuck her tongue out at George at the use of the nickname she hated but then lifted her chin.  “Of course.  I know all sorts.”

Ginny turned to her older brother. “Did you find them?”

“It’s no use, they  _ silencioed _ the kitchen,” Ron said.

“I’ve been working on something,” George said tentatively.  He pulled a long, pale length of fleshy string out of the box.  It stuck to his hand.  “It’s a bit on the sticky side but I had trouble getting the spell to stick to the original.”  He glanced at Ginny and Neville.  “It should get through the  _ silencio _ , though.”

Ginny held out her hand and George dropped the string into her waiting palm.  She unwound it and placed one end in her ear and tossed the other end down the stairs and around the corner.

“Extendible Ears,” Harry said, studying one of the lengths of fleshy string he pulled from the box Neville now held.  It wasn’t one of the newer ones, the material smooth and pliable.  He laughed.  “We used them spy on the Order too.”

Ginny turned around, pulling the end of the Extendible Ear away from her face.  “You should listen,” she said, handing it to Harry.  “They’re talking about you.”

Moving forward, Harry took the Extendible Ear and placed it in his ear.  It was like tuning into radio static punctuated with strings of words and sentences.  He closed his eyes to listen, Dumbledore speaking.

“Severus has informed me...Sybil Trelawney…”

Another voice, one Harry didn’t recognize.  “Can she be trusted?”

“Can Snape?”

“...been nothing but loyal...life on the line…” Harry recognized Lily’s voice, anger biting at the edges of her words.

Dumbledore spoke next.  “He is one of our most important allies…”

“...saved my life once.”

“...but he’s a…”

“... _ former _ Death-”

“Albus, you were saying...”

Harry heard the old wizard clear his throat.  “It has been brought to my attention...Sybil Trelawney...another prophecy... the return of The Chosen One...will do what the other...possesses a.”

“...a savior?”

“...the boy...it has to be.”

“He’s a boy, let’s not forget.”

Dumbledore’s voice again.  “Severus has told me...Voldemort knows…”

The sound of a soft gasp.

“It is just a name!” The voice belonged to Mad-Eye, harsh and gravelly.  “Do you honestly fear a name?”

“Alastor,” Dumbledore said gently.

“Fear is power, Albus,” he replied.  “...you always said...a name is just…”

A hand touched Harry’s shoulder and he jumped slightly.

“Sorry, didn’t intend to startle you,” Luna said softly.  

“It’s okay.” He turned around.

“What are they saying?” she asked.

“There...There’s been a prophecy.”

“What about?” Ron asked, looking up at Harry, an Extendable Ear in his hand.

“Um,” he hesitated.  “I-I couldn’t really tell.”

“Well, what are they saying?”

Luna tilted her head to the side.  “It’s about you, isn’t it?” she said.

Ginny, who’d been listening in on the meeting again, turned around to face Harry.

Harry looked at the stairs.  A hand lightly touched his arm and he looked up.

“It’s okay,” Luna said.  “It’s never easy to be the subject of a prophecy.”

“What did you hear?” Neville asked.

Sharp pain seemed to split through Harry’s head.  Gasping, he didn’t have time to cry out as his hand clutched at his forehead.  He stumbled, tripping over Neville’s outstretched legs.  His hands grasped empty air as fell and he scrunched his eyes shut, waiting to land at the bottom of the stairs.  When he didn’t, he cautiously opened his eyes to find himself floating a few inches above the landing.  He looked up, George standing with his wand drawn and pointed at Harry.  George lowered Harry to the ground.  The shock of what had just happened wore off and Harry was assaulted by several voices talking all at once.

“What the bloody hell was that?”

“Are you okay?”

“What just happened?”

“Language, Ron!”

“I’m not seven!  You can say bloody.”

“Em!”

Harry closed his eyes as a rush of emotion coursed through him, emotion that wasn’t exactly his own.  He tried to clear his mind, tried to do what Snape had tried to teach him, but it was no use.  He was filled with a sharp mixture of triumph.  Then, just as quickly as they had come, the foreign feelings dissolved and Harry found himself back in The Burrow.

“Harry?”

He looked to the right.  A dozen adults stood at the foot of the steps.  Mrs. Weasley glared up the stairs at her children.

“ _ What _ is the meaning of this!?”  She planted her hands on her hips.  “Upstairs, all of you!”

Neville and Luna obeyed as Ginny and Ron considered arguing but reconsidered at the look of anger their mother was giving them.

A hand rested on Harry’s arm.  He turned.  James and Sirius knelt down beside him.

“What happened?  Are you alright?” James asked, his eyes roving over Harry, looking and assessing for injuries.

“He fell down the stairs,” Sam offered, he and his sister still standing on the stairs.  “But George caught him.”

The shock of what had happened began to wear off and Harry felt all jittery inside.  “I’m okay,” he said, rubbing at his forehead.

James sat back on his heels.  “What happened?”

Sirius leaned forward, taking Harry’s hand in his own, pulling it away from his forehead.  “Is it your scar?  Tell us, Harry.”

Harry pulled his hand free.  “I’m fine,” he said quietly.

The mass of adults had dispersed at Lily’s insistence.  At the top of the stairs, he could just see faces peeking around the corner, listening in.

“You don’t look fine,” James said.  “And what’s this about your scar?”

Albus Dumbledore stood behind James and Sirius, watching on with solemn curiosity.

“James,” Lily said placing a hand on her husband’s shoulder.  “We should take him home.”

Glancing up at his wife, he nodded.  Sirius helped Harry to his feet, who shrugged off the assistance.  

“I’m fine, really,” he said to his godfather.

“I’ve come to know you, Harry, and I know when you’re not fine,” Sirius said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote Dumbledore says at dinner was originally said by Desmond Tutu. He opposed apartheid in South Africa in the 1980s.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine**

 

Harry fell out of the fireplace, landing on the floor in the sitting room of Whitehaven.  “I’m fine!”  He pushed away the hands that reached out towards him and instead got to his feet on his own, using his hands to push himself up.

“You’re not fine, Harry,” Sirius said.

He stood beside James, arms crossed.

“What happened, and what does it have to do with your scar?” James stepped forward but Harry turned away.  He dropped down into one of the chairs facing the fireplace, his hand automatically going to the jagged scar.

“Nothing,” he said.

James sat down in the other chair, Sirius grabbing an ottoman.

At the stairs, Lily ushered Em and Sam up the stairs, Sam craning his head around to catch as much of what was going on downstairs as he could.

Sirius reached forward, placing his hand on Harry’s knee.  “Harry-”

“Stop it!  Stop fussing over me like a baby!” Harry jerked his knee out of Sirius’ reach.  “I’m fine!”

“Dragonshit,” James swore, leaning in towards Harry, his eyes hard with anger-tinged concern.  “Something happened to your scar and the next thing we know, you fall down the stairs.  What happened?”

Glowering, Harry looked away.

“Tell me.”

“Tell you?” Harry spun around, shouting.  “Why don’t you tell me about the prophecy?”

James frowned.

“Harry,” Sirius began.  “You weren’t supposed to be listening in on the meeting.  None of you were.”

Sighing, James ran a hand through his hair, the ends sticking up.  “The prophecy isn’t something you need to worry-”

“Not something I need to worry about?” he yelled.  “It’s about me, isn’t it?”

“That’s not the-”

“It is about me, then?  And this is something I shouldn’t worry over?”  He volleyed his attention between James and his godfather.  “What does it say?”

James said nothing, Sirius giving him a pointed look.  “No,” James said.

From upstairs, Lily came down, a frown deeply creasing her face.  “The prophecy doesn’t concern you at this time, Harry,” she said.

“Yes it does!  It’s about me, so it concerns me.”

“You are fifteen years old,” she said, pointing a finger his way.

“James,” Sirius began.  “Maybe we should-”

“No!” Lily said harshly, rounding on Sirius.  “He is just a boy.”

“Who is at the center of a prophecy,” Sirius argued.

Sighing, James rubbed at his forehead.  “Lily-”

“I’M RIGHT HERE!” Harry shouted.  “Stop talking about me like I’m not in the room.  I’m  _ right here _ !”

Lily turned on him.  “There is a war going on out there that has destroyed much of the wizarding world. You are not ready to face that,” she said.  “You are a fifteen year boy and I’m sure you think you’re grown up and prepared to take on the world outside of here, but  _ you are not! _ ”

Something inside Harry ignited and began to burn, rising up in him.  It was sharp and pressed against his insides.  

“You are only fifteen, Harry,” Lily said.  “A child.”

Harry exploded, his chair skidding back as he shot to his feet.  “A CHILD?  I am  _ not  _ a child!  Not even two weeks ago I fought against Deatheaters and you know what I did last year?” He rounded on Lily, shoving off the hands that tried to contain him.  “I was forced to watch Voldemort return.  Oh, and I also dueled with him.  The year before that I fought off dementors.”  He turned to look at James.  “Did you know I can cast a full corporeal patronus?  No, no you don’t because to you I am just a child. It doesn’t matter that in my second year I killed a basilisk or fought a troll when I was eleven or survived the killing curse when I was a freaking baby!”

Lily’s eyes hardened but Harry continued.

“I don’t need to be protected.  I have taken care of myself my entire life and I don’t need to be coddled.  I am so fucking-”

“HEY!” James yelled as Sirius shouted, both men stepping forward.

Harry ignored them.  “-tired of everybody thinking they know what is best for me.  You don’t know what is best for me because you are  _ not _ my mother and he-” Harry jabbed his thumb James’ way. “-is  _ not  _ my father.  YOU ARE DEAD!”

“THAT IS ENOUGH!” James rushed in towards Harry, careful to not touch the boy.  He gestured towards the doorway leading to the kitchen.  “ _ Outside,  _ NOW!”

Harry froze, eyes wide.  All the rage that had previously filled him melted away.  Anger radiated off James.

James backed off, giving the boy some space, but his eyes remained hardened, body tense.  “Now,” he said, pointing.  “Move.”

Harry moved, walking in the direction James pointed.  A coat was thrust into his arms and James threw the back door open.  Out the back door they walked, through the trees and down the path to the large clearing.  Harry stopped in the middle of the field as James waved his arm, four balls of light flying up into the trees, casting light down onto the ground.  James pulled open the shed door, grabbed a broom, and shoved it into Harry’s arms.

He stared at James blankly for a moment.

“Fly,” James said, pointing to the sky.

He didn’t need to be told twice.  Harry mounted the broom, kicked off the ground, and was up in the air within his next breath.  Tension filled him, making him feel like a bow string, drawn taut and ready to send anything flying.  But the cold night air blew through his hair and against his face and he felt the familiar sensation of being airborne.  It had been such a long time since he’d flown and it felt good.  Everything around him faded away and it was just him.  He did a quick three laps around the perimeter of the field and then dive bombed the ground, going into a feint.  Distantly, he heard James shout and then laugh as Harry pulled up sharply on the broom.  He spiraled upwards, rising higher and higher until an unseen barrier had him automatically turning downwards.   From his height, Harry could make out James and Sirius, tiny as ants, standing beside each other.  Harry went into another feint and at the last minute, pulled up.

A glimmer of gold caught his eye to the right.  James had released a snitch and Harry went after it.  Leaning in close to his broom, he shifted his weight forward, testing the boundaries of the broom’s speed.  It began to shake but Harry forced it to stay in line as he kept his eyes on the fluttering bit of gold zig-zagging through the clearing.  It took him five minutes to catch the snitch and he landed heavily on the ground, clutching it in his fist.  The delicate metal wings of the snitch beat against his skin.  His chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath.  He was winded, more so than he should have been, but he couldn’t help the grin spreading across his face.  Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and then exhaled loudly.

“Merlin, you can fly!” James ran both hands through his hair, his eyes wide.

“Told you,” Sirius said, smacking his friend on the shoulder.

“I haven’t seen flying like that since...since, well-”

“You were in school?” Sirius said.

James shook his head and laughed.  “A Wronski Feint!”

Harry grinned.

James regarded Harry.  “Feel better?”

“Yeah,” he said.  “Much better.”

Sweat ran down Harry’s face and back, sending a chill through him.  He reached for his wand but a tap on his back had a rush of warmth spreading through him. 

“Thanks,” he said to James.

The snitch in his hand deactivated and grew silent.  Harry turned it over in his hands, playing with the flexible wings.  The rush of flying began fading and an unpleasant wash of shame and guilt filled him.

“I-I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have-”

“We know,” Sirius said.

James took the broom from Harry.  “We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

“But-”

“It’s late and you’re exhausted,” James said.  “Tomorrow, Harry.”

 

OOO

 

“You’re right that there is a prophecy and that it’s about you.”

Harry sat in the sitting room, James and Sirius on either side of him and Lily across from them.  Lily had sent Em and Sam to the Burrow earlier that day, the house quiet.

“What does it say?”

Lily reached forward and took Harry’s hands.  “I want you to understand something first,” she said.  “Just because you may be the subject of this prophecy doesn’t mean you’re just a means to an end.  Your life matters in this.”

“Okay,” he said quietly.

James placed a hand on Harry’s back and Harry shifted slightly.  “It speaks of The Chosen One returning,” he began, reciting from memory.  “...as two worlds, once separate, join together.  It says he will do what the other could not for he is equally matched and possesses a power the Dark Lord knows not.”

“So, I’m to kill Voldemort,” he said.

“Harry-” Sirius began.

“That’s what it means, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” James said, sending Lily a look.  “We believe that’s what it means.”

Harry nodded.  “Okay,” he said.

“It’s a lot to take in,” Sirius said.  

“I figured there was a reason we were sent here,” Harry said, glancing at Sirius.

“Please don’t think like that,” James said.  “You’re not just a pawn in our war.  Don’t let anybody make you think you are.”

Harry looked away.  “I think there was a prophecy in my world,” he said.  “When I was in the Department of Mysteries, we were in this room with all these glass orbs.  One had my initials on it.”

“Yes, that same prophecy exists in this world,” James said.

Lily fired an angry look at James but he gave her a pointed look.

“It was about our Harry as I’m sure the one in your world is about you,” he said.

“It’s the reason your mum and dad went into hiding,” Sirius said.

“You know what it says?” Harry asked.

Sirius nodded.  

“And you never said anything?” Anger began to rise in Harry’s voice.  “Never thought that I should know?”

“Dumbledore didn’t want you to know,” he said.  “He didn’t think you were ready.”

“Not ready?  When the bloody thing is about me?!”  Harry stood and turned, his shoulders hiked up.

“Sit down, Harry,” James said.

“No,” Harry said, stepping over Sirius’ feet and heading for the door.  “I want to be alone.”

Harry ignored the three adults as he strode out of the room and through the kitchen.  He slammed the back door on his way out and dropped heavily onto the back steps of Whitehaven, huddled against the cold.  In his need to escape, he’d neglected to grab a coat.  He reached into his back pocket for his wand and cursed when he remembered he’d left it on his nightstand.  Sighing, he rested his head in his hands, his temples throbbing.  Behind him, he heard the door open and footsteps cross the wooden planks of the deck.

“I want to be alone,” he muttered.

A coat was tossed onto the steps beside him.

“Lily said she’d prefer if you didn’t catch frostbite,” James said from behind him as Sirius sat down on the steps beside Harry.

Sighing, Harry shrugged the coat on and then promptly resumed his huddled position.

“I can’t pretend to know exactly how you feel,” Sirius began, “but I can imagine that you’re overwhelmed, or angry, or scared-”

“I’m not scared,” Harry said.

Sirius laughed.  “I would be.”

“Well, I’m not,” he said.  “I’m frustrated and angry.  If I’m expected to defeat not one, but two Voldemorts, then I feel I need to know everything.”

“You have a very good point, Harry,” James said.  “There was another prophecy.  It began, ‘The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord…’”

 

OOO

 

Several nights later Harry slept fitfully, tossing and turning in bed, his face twisted in a grimace.  He turned onto his side in his sleep, hands buried in his hair.  Flashes of images moved quickly through his dreamscape, agitating him.  A scream tore through his dreams, high pitched and tortured.  Wind rustled through Harry’s hair and he found his feet on solid ground.  Blinking, he could barely make anything out, blackness surrounding him.  He turned in a circle, reaching out blindly with his hands, feeling for anything.  The screaming stopped, replaced with a string of pleading words.  Harry listened carefully, but he couldn’t make out any words. Someone laughed and his head filled with pain.

Harry woke with a gasp.

His room was dark and the house quiet.  Heart pounding and body shaking slightly, he laid back down.

It was just a dream, he tried to tell himself.  But Harry knew better.  He could tell the difference between a normal dream and a dream sent to him by Voldemort.  Drawing his knees up, Harry rubbed at his scar and closed his eyes.  He felt small, entirely too small and the world around him too big.  It was like he was lost, adrift in a sea and completely aware of his fate.

Harry laid in bed, consumed by what he knew, for a long time before he finally got out of bed.  It was still dark out, but he knew he wouldn’t sleep anymore that night.  Stepping out into the hallway, Harry saw a light shining from under a door at the other end of the hall.  Harry went to it.

James sat in his office, cataloging the contents of his medical chest.  He looked up as the door opened.

Harry stood in the doorway, hand on the doorknob.

“Hey,” James said.  “Can’t sleep?”

He shook his head.

“Want a sleeping potion?”

“No,” Harry said.  “Thanks.”

James nodded at the other chair in the room.  “Sit,” he said.

Harry’s feet moved softly across the floorboards to the chair.  Sitting down, he pulled his legs up, arms hugging his knees.

“Are you ok-” James stopped and smiled slightly.  “Knut for your thoughts?”  

He watched as the older man sorted through a bunch of bottles and vials, jotting down notes on a ream of parchment on the desk beside him.

“I had a nightmare,” he said.

“Want to talk about it?”

“It wasn’t really about anything,” he said, shrugging one shoulder.  “It was just...sounds.”

Harry’s scar ached.  Absently, he rubbed at it.

“Scar bothering you?”

“A bit,” he said.  

James sat back, a vial held loosely in one hand.  He regarded Harry quietly for a moment before speaking.

“I think we need to talk about Occlumency.”

Harry shook his head.  “Can’t do it,” he said, scratching at his knee.  “I told you.”

“You had a poor teacher.  Remus and I have been talking and he’s willing to teach you.”

“Professor Lupin knows Occlumency?”

James laughed.  “Remus isn’t a professor,” he said.  “Is he in your world?”

Harry nodded.  “He taught Defense,” he said.  “Was the best teacher we’ve had yet.”

“Remus would be pleased to know that,” James said.

“He taught me how to cast a Patronus.”

“I remember.  You were only a third year?”

Nodding, Harry shifted in the chair.  “That was the year Sirius escaped from Azkaban and there were Dementors around Hogwarts for added protection.”

James recoiled at the thought of Dementors at a school filled with children.  “Dementors?  Who’s idea was that?”

Harry shrugged.  “The Ministry.”

“And the students had to learn to cast a Patronus to protect themselves?”

“No, just me,” Harry said.  “I seemed to react....strongly to them..”

James frowned.  “They feed off of bad memories,” he said quietly.

Harry looked away.  “Remus decided to teach me to cast a Patronus,” he said.  “So they would leave me alone.”  Harry turned back towards James.  “So, Remus would teach me?”

“He’s a very skilled Occlumens,” James said, nodding.  “Even rivals Severus at times.”  He chuckled.  “Though Severus will never admit it.”

The very thought of giving Occlumency another try made Harry’s insides revolt.  But it was Remus.  Considering it, he nodded.  “Ok,” he said.  “As long as it’s Profes- um, Remus.”

“Good,” James said.  “Remus will be pleased.  He’s been wanting an excuse to spend more time with you.”

Harry smiled slightly.  James returned to his medical chest.

He watched James scribble across the parchment.  “What’re you doing?”

“Going through my potions and things,” he said.  “Making sure I’m not running out of anything.”

“Oh.”

Setting the parchment and pen down, James set his eyes upon the boy.  “What’s on your mind?”

There was a bookshelf to Harry’s right, a pensive on the top shelf with a dozen or so vials beside it.  Memories, he thought, and wondered what they contained.

“You look tired.”

Harry turned to James.  “I can’t sleep,” he explained.

“No, not that type of tired.  You have the look of someone who had been through a lot or knows too much,” he said.  “I used to see that look on my Harry from time to time.”  James frowned.  “Not a look you’d expect to see on a twelve or thirteen year old.”

“He died?

James nodded.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said.

“Life goes on, Harry,” he said, sighing quietly.  “It always does.  How are you dealing with everything?”

The chair Harry sat in was upholstered in worn leather.  He picked at a section on the arm.  “I don’t know,” he said.  “Sometimes...Sometimes I feel-” Harry stopped.

“Sometimes you feel what?”

“I wish sometimes that the prophecies didn’t exist and I was just Harry.”

“You are just Harry.”

“No, I’m not,” he said.  “I’m not just Harry Potter.  I’m The-Boy-Who-Lived who defeated Voldemort when I was a year old.  Everybody says I’m the savior of the Wizarding World.”  Harry laughed sardonically.  “And I am!  I’m supposed to defeat not just one, but two Voldemorts.”

Harry closed his eyes.  “I’m tired of being the celebrity but everybody only sees that and they never just see me.  Never am I just Harry.  Even when I go home for the summer holidays I’m never just Harry.  I’m the boy left on their doorstep fourteen years ago that they never wanted.  They never just see me.  They only see a burden and someone they don’t want.”

Rubbing between his eyes, James groaned.  “You were never meant to live with the Dursleys.”

Harry frowned.

“Lily and I would never have wanted you to live with Petunia.”

“You didn’t exactly have a choice in that matter.  You were dead.”

“We had...well,  _ have _ a will,” he said.  “It was created shortly before you were born and I imagine it was, if not exactly the same, then very similar to the one your parents wrote.  It states very specifically who should get custody of you if Lily and I were to die.”

“Sirius was in Azkaban.”

“Yes,” James said.  “But there were a half dozen other people we listed.”

“Dumbledore said something about my needing to live with the Dursley’s,” he said.  “That Aunt Petunia’s house was the safest place for me.”

“A witch or wizard well trained in ward casting could have easily warded a house and made it safe for you,” he said.  “And what use is warding a house if the occupants are going to mistreat you?”

Harry met James’ eye contact for a brief moment before flicking between the individual books on the bookshelf.

“I’m not wrong, am I?”  James leaned forward.

Unfolding himself from the chair, Harry went to stand.

“Sit, Harry,” James directed.

Reluctantly, Harry sat down but refused to meet James’ eyes.  He felt a rubberband of tension build in his chest.

“Why didn’t you tell anybody?”

He shrugged dismissively.  “Everybody thought I was spoiled.”

“But they were wrong.”

“It’s not a big deal,” he said.

“ _ Not a big deal _ ?” 

“It’s not like they beat me,” he said harshly.

“Maybe not,” James said.  “But did they hit you?”

Harry ground his teeth together, the band of tension building, threatening to snap.  He wanted to run, to leap from the chair and tear out of the room.  James reached forward but Harry moved out of the way.  

“Harry-”

The band broke.

“Leave me alone!” Harry growled.

James watched as Harry ran from the room. Distantly, he heard a door open and slam, the explosive noise echoing harshly in the quiet of the night.  He closed his eyes for a moment, collecting his thoughts, before standing.  James closed the door and carefully soundproofed all the walls.  He picked up the nearest object, an empty vial on the desk.  With a yell, he threw it against the wall.  

Five minutes later the floor of the office was littered with broken glass, James standing in the middle.  His anger had dissipated, leaving only sadness.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Chapter Ten**

 

Harry stood in the doorway to the kitchen.  He’d had another nightmare filled with the same darkness and screaming.  Except, this time, he could tell it was a man screaming, his words almost discernible.  After he’d woken, sweaty and shaking, Harry couldn’t bear the thought of sleeping.  The darkness had seemed an unwanted invitation to revisit his dream.

So, he found himself, again, down in the kitchen before the sun had fully risen.  It was early morning, and Lily was up making breakfast, per her usual routine.  The kitchen was filled with an odd mix of smells, savory and astringent, tickling the inside of Harry’s nose.  He watched her stare into a large cauldron placed on the stovetop, her lips moving, counting as she stirred slowly.  A bell chimed, and with a whispered spell, the stirring stick continued to slowly revolve in the potion as she let go to open the oven, retrieving a pan of muffins.  Steam rose from the muffins, and Lily set them down on the counter, well out of the way of the cauldron.  She turned to set her oven mitts down and jumped slightly, startled to see Harry standing in the doorway.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” he said softly.

Hand to her chest, Lily laughed.  “Just didn’t expect to see you standing there.”

Harry walked into the kitchen.  “I couldn’t sleep.  Can I help with breakfast?”

She smiled softly, reaching out to lay a hand gently on his arm.  “Of course.”  Her smile deepened.  “This is starting to become our routine.”

Harry returned her smile and glanced at the cauldron.  “What’re you making?”

“Antiseptic.  James is running low,” she said, overturning the muffin pan, the muffins spilling out onto the counter.  Lily turned them right side up.  “I could use a hand with that, actually.”

“Alright.” Harry peered cautiously at the black liquid in the cauldron slowly revolving around, guided by the enchanted stirrer.

Lily handed him a small vial filled with a dark yellow--almost brown--powder.  “Powdered goldenseal root,” she explained.  “Keep it stirring as you add the powder, all at once, mind you.  Wait thirty seconds, then remove the stick and turn off the heat.  It should turn crystal clear once the heat is off.”

“Um, you should know I’m useless at potions,” he said.

“Well, then you’ll need the practice.” Lily opened the fridge. “And you best hurry, the potion won’t keep much longer in this state.”

She turned to rummage in the fridge, and Harry stared down into blackness swirling round and round.  Popping the cork out of the vial, he dumped the powder in.  It landed in a clump on the surface of the liquid and then quickly dissolved.  Harry counted to thirty, removed the stirring stick and reached around for the control knob, he but couldn’t find it.  There were no knobs, buttons, or gauges for the stovetop.

“How do I turn off the heat?”

“Tap it with your wand,” Lily instructed, laying slices of bread into a casserole dish.  “It’s a magical stove, requires a wand to operate.”  She laughed lightly.  “Though I sometimes forget and go looking for the dials too.”

Doing as instructed, the red glow from beneath the cauldron dimmed and then extinguished.  Harry stood and watched the potion nervously.

“How’d you do?” Lily looked over Harry’s shoulder, placing a hand lightly on his upper back.  She carefully judged his reaction.

Harry glanced at her but didn’t shrug away.  He looked down at the still black potion, disappointed.  “I don’t think-”

“Oh, there it goes. I never get tired of watching a potion change.” She leaned forward as the black lightened to grey and then the color quickly fell away, leaving only a perfectly clear potion.  A sharp, biting scent rose from the cauldron.  “Smells right,” she noted and smiled at Harry, a tinge of maternal pride coloring her voice.  “See, not useless afterall.”

“Oi, what’s that smell?” Sirius entered the kitchen, pulling a face.  

James followed him but stopped short, staring at his wife and the cauldron sitting on the stove.  “Lily, what are you doing?”

Lily reached for an egg and cracked it on the side of a bowl.  “You were low on antiseptic,” she said.  “So, I brewed you more.”

Sirius rubbed at his nose.  “Antiseptic, smells about right.”

“You didn’t have to,” James said.  “Severus could have-”

“Nonsense.” She cracked another egg into the bowl.  “It’s a simple enough potion.  Plus, I had help.”  She nodded at Harry.

James glanced at him and then at Lily again.  “I don’t want you to over-”

“James,” she said sternly, turning from the casserole dish.  “I’m fine.”

Sirius stepped forward and touched Harry lightly on the arm.  “Let’s go outside. I want to talk to you.”

They left the warmth of the kitchen and what sounded like a simmering argument.  Outside, the snow had begun to melt, dripping off the eaves of the cabin steadily.  The sun rose in the east, promising to chase off the bitterness of the cold.  At the bottom of the steps, a small path wound off to the right.  Sirius lead Harry down the path, walking slowly.

“Why didn’t you ever tell anyone?” he began.

“Tell anyone what?”

“Harry.” Sirius stopped and turned to face his godson.  “You know my meaning.”

He sighed.  “I don’t know.”  He kicked at some snow on the path.  “I didn’t want to be a bother.”

“You’re never a bother,” he said.  “That would be impossible.  You’re the least bothersome person I know.”

“I just didn’t want people to look at me and think, ‘Oh, there goes the Boy-Who-Is-Knocked-Around-By-His Relatives.’” Harry stooped and picked up a small stone. “They stare at me enough already.”

“You never said anything to Professor Dumbledore?”

“No.” Harry chucked the stone into the woods where it smacked against the trunk of a tree. They resumed walking.  “He was always on about me needing to live with the Dursleys. Blood magic and everything,” he muttered.

“When your mother died, it was her love that protected you,” Sirius explained.  “And that protection extended to the Dursley’s house.”

Harry frowned and Sirius placed a hand on his shoulder.

“But just because you have blood magic protecting you, doesn’t mean you must live there if they are abusive.”

Scratching at his arm, Harry pushed the toe of his trainer through the wet snow. “I wouldn’t say they were abusive”

“They hit you.  That’s abuse, Harry.  It’s not right.”

A bird trilled off at a distance in the forest.  Harry turned and looked off in the direction of the bird’s call.  “I don’t know why we have to make a big deal about this.”

“James and Lily, they’re really upset,” Sirius said. 

“I’m-”

“Don’t apologize, if that is what you were going to do,” Sirius said sternly.  “Don’t ever apologize for what they did to you.  You’re not at fault in this, Harry.  You should have been taken care of, and back home we failed to do that.” They stopped walking again, and Sirius took Harry’s arm and turned him around so they were face-to-face.  “I understand why you may have been reluctant to tell any of your teachers, but what about me?  Why didn’t you ever say anything to me?”

Harry sighed and turned away, Sirius letting him.

“I don’t know, Sirius.” He crossed his arms and hugged himself.  “I just don’t know.  By the time I knew you, it was just how it was.” Harry let his arms drop, and he looked up at his godfather. “I didn’t see the point.”

“ _ You didn’t see the point? _  I am your godfather.  It’s my job to take care of you.”

“I know” 

“Do you?” Sirius leaned down to look at Harry’s face.  “Because I don’t think you know what that even means.  It means your well being is my concern. I want to know if you’re happy or sad, if you have pain, if you have a nightmare or a problem.  I am here for you.”

“Ok.”

“Do you understand?”

Harry rubbed at his face. “Yeah.”

“Can you look at me and say that?”

Harry looked up.  A sharp pain shoved its way into Sirius’ chest. It hurt to see the shame in his godson’s green eyes, to know that he had essentially failed as a godfather.  Sirius reached forward and slowly pulled Harry to him, wrapping his arms around the boy.

“I love you, kid,” he said.  “I love you more than life itself.”

 

OOO

 

After breakfast, Harry had his first Occlumency lesson with Remus.  Remus lived at the edge of the Potter’s property, accessed by walking down a path leading off from the field.  The path leading up to the front door was slushy with melting snow.  Harry stamped his feet as he ascended the three steps and knocked on the door, a tin of leftover breakfast casserole in one hand.

“It’s open,” a voice called from inside.

Harry entered through the door and into a small, but comfortably furnished, sitting room.  Bookshelves lined the walls and two lamps on side tables beside the couch lit the room in a soft glow.  Through the doorway on the other side of the room, a light shone.

“I’m in the kitchen,” Remus said.  “Come on in.”

Kicking off his shoes and leaving them on the mat just inside the door, Harry crossed the room.  The kitchen was bright and airy and Remus stood at the stove, a green tea kettle whistling.  Two empty mugs sat on the counter.

“Hey, Greeneyes,” he said, picking up the kettle.  “You know, you don’t have to knock.  You can just walk in.  I don’t mind.”

“Alright,” he replied, setting the tin down on the counter.

Remus finished pouring the tea, set the kettle down, and nodded at the tin.  “What’s this?”

“Leftovers,” Harry explained.  “From breakfast.”

“Lily does like to take care of people,” he commented, reaching into a small fridge for cream.  “Not that I’m complaining.”  He nodded at one of the mugs.  “Tea’s for you--chamomile to help you relax.  Sugar’s on the counter.”

Harry added a generous amount of sugar and cream to his tea and followed Remus, who took his tea strong and plain, into a small library with a fire already lit in the fireplace.  Like the sitting room, the library was filled with bookshelves except for one wall where a desk sat beneath the window, books and rolls of parchment were stacked neatly.  Sipping his tea, Harry glanced through the stack of books.  One caught his eye, and he pulled the book from the stack.

“Parallel Universes: The Search for Other Worlds,” he read.

“I’ve been researching what brought you and Sirius here,” he said, hands wrapped around his mug of tea.  “A muggle man wrote that book.  I think wizards don’t give muggles enough credit.  They are capable of astounding intelligence and perception of the world around them.”

“What do you think brought us here?” Harry asked.

“Well, I’m not entirely sure,” Remus took a drink of his tea, his eyes trained on Harry.  “Albus has a few Order members looking into it, including me.  Muggles, oddly enough, tend to have a firmer grasp on the universe and this thing they call quantum mechanics than wizards do.” Scratching at his chin, Remus gestured to one of the cushioned armchairs set before the fire.  “Sit, finish your tea,” he instructed.

“Do you think there’s a way back to my world?” Harry asked and remained standing.

“We don’t know enough, yet, about what brought you here. The arch you and Sirius passed through is supposed to be a divider between the world of the living and the dead. Obviously,” he continued, gesturing to the fifteen-year-old, “it is not functioning as such.”

“Why not?”

“That is a question I don’t have the answer to, yet.” Remus pointed at the armchair across from the fire. “Sit and drink your tea.”

Harry did as instructed, the warm and milky tea soothing.  He relaxed back into the chair as Remus dragged the other chair around to face Harry.  Finished with his tea, Harry set the mug down on the table beside him.

“So, how do we do this?” Harry asked.

“The first thing any Occlumens needs to learn is to gain control of their thoughts, to clear their mind.”

Harry grimaced.  “I’ll warn you.  I’m pretty much rubbish at clearing my mind.”

“You had a poor teacher,” Remus said.  “I understand Severus Snape taught you in your world?”

Harry nodded.

“Severus is a very talented Occlumens, but he goes about teaching it all wrong.”  Remus settled back in his chair, one ankle crossed on the opposite knee.  “Occlumency and Legilimency are skills that come naturally to him.  So, he doesn’t understand the processes that the rest of us need to go through to get control of our own subconscious.”

“He was always going on about clearing my mind and focusing.” Old anxiety and anger rose in Harry.  “I didn’t know what to focus on.”

Remus nodded with understanding.  “Some people will tell you that clearing your mind is to think of nothing.  I always found that a challenge.  Trying not to think often had the opposite effect.  I found a different method useful.  Rest your head against the back of the chair and close your eyes,” he instructed.

Doing as instructed, Harry fidgeted slightly.

“I want you to focus on your breathing.” Remus leveled his voice, speaking in quiet measures. “Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth.  It should be slow and steady.”

Harry inhaled slowly, noting his lungs and chest expanding, and then he relaxed as air rushed out of his mouth.

“Good,” Remus said quietly.  “Keep doing that.  Get comfortable enough with that so your breathing pattern becomes almost automatic.”

He continued, in and out, simultaneously aware of everything around him.  The feel of the chair’s fabric, the taste of his tea still lingering in his mouth, the crackle and radiant heat from the fire, Remus’ presence a short distance from him.  An interaction from earlier that morning came to mind between him and Sam, the younger boy surly and angry.  Lily’s voice, scolding Sam, floated through Harry’s mind.  He remembered the potion he had helped brew and relived, briefly, the surprise at not botching it in the end.

“Alright, now I want you to choose to think of something vast but simple,” Remus said.  “It should be something you find calming and something you can visualize in your mind.  It will be your anchor.  Once you’ve chosen, continue with your breathing exercise and visualize your anchor.”  Remus paused, allowing Harry time.

Harry thought of the ocean, the widest expanse of dark blue water he could conjure in his mind.  A light wind coursed over the water’s surface, scattering the moon’s reflection.

“Just focus on your anchor and your breathing.  Distractions will come.  Acknowledge them and let them move on,” Remus said.

Taking a deep breath, Harry focused on the water.  It made him sleepy and he worried for a brief moment if he was doing it right.  He didn’t think he should doze off in the middle of his lesson with Remus.  But then, Remus’ words repeated themselves in his head and Harry decided to let his worries go, pushing them away as if they were just waves in the water.  With each thought that came, he did the same, sending each out into the water as waves.  

A log in the fire popped.  Harry jumped.

“It’s just background noise.” Remus’ voice came softly, gently. “Just let go.”

Harry let go, taking note of all the sounds around him and pushing them out into the water.  He continued breathing.  In and out.  A smooth and slow cycle that he found calming.  He sat like that, eyes closed, for how long he couldn’t have said until Remus touched his knee.

“Harry.”

He opened his eyes.

“You did well,” Remus said.

“I did?”

The other man nodded.  “What did you chose as your anchor?”

“The ocean.”

Remus nodded.  “A useful anchor,” he said.  “I want you to practice this exercise several times a day and directly before you go to sleep at night. The more comfortable you become at drawing up your anchor, easier you will be able to clear your mind.”

 

OOO

 

Harry walked back to Whitehaven slowly, feeling calm and relaxed for the first time in what seemed like forever.  As he walked between the two tall trees, the cabin popping into sight, James exited the back door, zipping his coat up, and nodded at Harry.

“You have time for a walk?” He asked.  “We need to talk about something.”

“Alright,” Harry said nervously.

It had been a few days since his conversation with James about the Dursleys and he’d said very little to the older man since then.  James began walking down the same path Harry had walked with Sirius earlier that day. and Harry followed reluctantly.  The memory of embarrassment and shame rose in him, and Harry wanted nothing but to forget the entire conversation.  James said nothing as they walked until they came upon a bench and James sat down.

“Sit down,” James gestured beside him as Harry hesitated.

Slowly, Harry sat down, eyes downcast on the ground.

“You asked several days ago about your friend, Hermione Granger’s counterpart in this world,” James began.  

Harry looked up.  

Sighing, James looked at Harry.  “I had someone in the Order find out what happened to her.” He paused and looked away as if pulling together his thoughts.

“Where is she?”

James rubbed his hands together. “Many years ago the Muggleborn Registry Act was passed.  The government supporters of the act said it was supposed to protect Muggleborns and provide them means of hiding from Voldemort and his followers. Instead, the list of Muggleborns was handed directly to Voldemort.”

Harry ground his teeth together and looked away.

“He spent many years trying to wipe Muggles and Muggleborns from existence. While he wasn’t successful with Muggles, he nearly was with Muggleborns.” James grew quiet and he turned to the boy.  “Harry--”

An awful feeling welled up in his chest, constricting his lungs. “Just tell me.” Harry struggled to control his breathing.  “What happened to her?”

“Hermione and her parents were murdered by Death Eaters many years ago,” James said slowly.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Harry dropped his head.  A hand came to rest gently on his back.  “Harry--”  
“Did she suffer?”

James closed his eyes, remembering the description in the copy of the old report he’d obtained detailing the scene.  He wanted to lie, to protect Harry from the knowledge that the girl had died a horrific death.  But, looking at the boy, James knew he couldn’t.

“Please, just tell me.”  Harry turned, green eyes pleading.  “Did she suffer?”

“Yes.”

It seemed as if his heart stopped for a brief moment, painful and immediate in his chest.  Harry felt James shift closer to him and he shifted away.

“Do you know where she’s buried?  I want to visit her grave.”

James shook his head. “No, but I’ll find out where she is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still writing this, and I plan on continuing to update it. I've been participating in the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition (I'm the Seeker for the Falmouth Falcons) over on FFN and I've started a new fic. So, I'm having to divide my time. I can't say how often I'll be able to update this, but just know that it is NOT abandoned.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter Eleven**

 

On February first, Emmeline Potter turned eleven.  Harry woke that morning to a door slamming and excited feet running past his room.  Curiously, he poked his head out his door, sleep still hanging heavily upon him, as Em thundered down the hallway.

“Is it here?!  Is it here yet?!”

Another door opened.  “It’s not even seven yet,” Sam complained loudly.  “Will you shut your bloody mouth?!”

Em stopped to stick her tongue out at her older brother.

“Watch your language,” James scolded, pulling on a jumper as he exited his bedroom.  “And be nice to your sister.”

“The sun isn’t even up yet,” Sam cried, gesturing angrily at his window where pale light shone through.

James pointed at him.  “Attitude, mate,” he said.  “You need to watch it.”  James took pause and quickly ran his eyes over his son.  “You sleep okay?”

“Fine”

“You sure?”

Sam looked away.  “Stop doing your healer thing,” he said.

“I’m not.  I’m doing my dad thing.”

Sam grumbled and headed into the bathroom only to stomp back out a second later. “Somebody—” He pointed at Em who covered her mouth with a hand. “—covered the toilet seat with syrup.”

Laughter exploded from Em, and James turned to her, his eyes betraying the mirth he tried to hide. “Oh, I see we’re doing Birthday pranks again.”

Em snorted, and Sam sent her a nasty look.

“It was well executed, Em,” James said, placing a hand on her back and guiding her into the bathroom. “Now, go clean it off before your mother finds out.”

Sam grumbled to himself and turned to return to bed, but caught Harry watching their exchange.  His scowl deepened, and he spun around quickly, slamming the door violently.  James sighed and squeezed the bridge of his nose.  When he opened his eyes, he smiled softly at Harry.

“Hope we didn’t wake you.”

“It’s okay,” he said.

“She’s been anticipating this day for months.” James glanced at the open bathroom door where Em scrubbed at the toilet seat. “And, apparently, she’s growing into a prankster.”

“You must be proud,” Harry commented.

“What are we proud about?” Sirius bounded up the stairs two at a time.

Em poked her head out of the bathroom. “I covered the toilet seat in syrup, and Sam almost sat down on it.”

Sirius nodded with approval. “You know, I once did something similar but with glue—”

James shoved Sirius. “Padfoot, don’t give her any ideas.”

“No, Padfoot, give me  _ all _ the ideas,” Em said from the bathroom.

The smell of french toast and eggs drifted up the stairs.  A door opened down the hall, Sam emerging.  “Food,” he grumbled, having given in to the promise of breakfast, and thudded down the stairs.

“Well, it smells like Lily has outdone herself,” James said, placing his hand gently on Harry’s back.  “Come on, let’s eat before the warming charms wear off.”

 

* * *

 

 

Halfway through breakfast, the Floo lit up with a whoosh, Em taking off like an out of control broom.

“It’s here!” she screamed.

“Em, darling, please finish chewing,” Lily admonished.  “I’d rather not have to cast a  _ Heimlich  _ on you.”

The girl came to a halt, giving her mother an apologetic look as she finished chewing.  Then, with a grin, she took off running through the doorway.  Voices came from the sitting room, and Em soon returned, pulling Albus Dumbledore by hand into the kitchen.  In his other hand was a letter.

“Albus!  You don’t usually do letter deliveries in person,” Lily stood up.  “If I knew you were coming, I would have made more,” she said, gesturing to the empty dishes on the table.

Albus smiled kindly.  “I am only here for a brief moment,” he turned and gave Em a pointed look, “but I’ll be back this afternoon.” He winked at the girl and made a show of handing her the letter.

Grabbing it, Em tore it open, her fingers gripping the parchment as she read the letter.  

Albus turned to Harry.  “I would like a moment to speak with you,” he said, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder as he guided him out of the kitchen and into the sitting room.  The old wizard sat down in one of the chairs by the fire, which was lit, making Albus’ dark robes almost purple.  He pulled a small drawstring bag from within his robes and opened it.

Harry sat down across from him.

“Pear drop?” He held the bag open.

Harry shook his head. “No thanks.”

Albus nodded with understanding. “I thought I would give them a try,” he said, popping one into his mouth.  “Lemon sherbets have been hard to come by recently.” Albus rolled the sweet around his mouth, tilting his head to the side thoughtfully.  “I much prefer the lemon flavoring, though.”  Albus smiled kindly and folded his hands.  “Now, there is much we must speak about, my boy,” he began, his eyes drifting to Harry’s forehead.

Harry resisted the urge to cover his scar with his hair.

“I understand the scar you have is a curse scar,” Albus said, “obtained the night your parents died in your world when Lord Voldemort tried to kill you.”

Harry nodded.  “My mother’s love protected me,” he said.  “At least, that’s what I’ve been told.”

Albus sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers.  “A mother’s love runs incredibly deep and can facilitate some  _ very _ powerful magic.  There’s more to your scar, though—more than just mere evidence of what happened that night.” His attention was trained upon Harry’s face, blue eyes searching and calculating.

Harry shifted uncomfortably, and the old wizard politely looked away, his features troubled.  “Tell me, Harry, do you have dreams?  Dreams that seem all too real?”

“Sometimes,” he said, hesitation trailing his words.

“Does it cause you pain?”

“Why do you want to know, Sir?”

Albus sighed.  “I am formulating a theory regarding your scar,” he said.  “It troubles me, Harry, how your scar was formed.” 

“Why does it trouble you?”

“The type of magic that would protect you against an Avada Kedavra would be very dark.  It could have some very serious repercussions that you may not even be aware of.”

Harry thought of his conversation earlier in the school year with his own Dumbledore, the conversation about the connection he had with Voldemort which eventually lead to his Occlumency lessons with Snape.

“What do you know about Occlumency?”

A fist of anxiety gripped at his insides.  “I had lessons back in my world, but they didn’t go so well.”

“Why is that?”

“Professor Snape taught me.  He and I don’t get along very well.” 

Albus nodded with understanding.  “Severus is a very talented Occlumens, but his teaching methods take a little getting used to.  I fear that I must ask you to overlook his faults and resume your lessons.”

Harry gripped the chair arms and looked into the fire.  His stomach roiled at the thought of having lessons again with Snape.

“Remus has already been teaching me.”

“Harry, you have a connection to Voldemort that you have little control over.  While Remus is extremely skilled at Occlumency, he is no match for Severus.” Albus leaned in towards Harry. Harry noticed the fingers of his left hand were blackened and desiccated.  “Severus is in a position to understand what you are up against.”

Harry stared at Dumbledore’s fingers and wondered how they had gotten that way.

“Harry, I wouldn’t ask you this if it weren’t of utmost importance.  Sometimes we must put aside our fears for the greater-”

“Albus, don’t you dare say for the greater good.” James pushed through the kitchen door and strode across the sitting room, his finger pointed at the old wizard. “You know how skilled Remus is at Occlumency.  He is more than adequate at teaching Harry to close off his mind.”

“I am not inferring the inadequacy of Remus as a teacher.  I am concerned about the connection the boy has with Voldemort. Severus can help him—”

“No, Albus.” James crossed his arms and regarded the old wizard with a degree of defiance that Harry found surprising. “Lily and I respect Severus a great deal, but we both disagree with his approach to teaching. We have decided that Remus should teach him.”

“I am not so sure that this is a decision either you or Lily should be making,” Albus said softly and stood with his hands folded. “Now, I have another meeting to attend.”

James moved between Albus and the fireplace. “We’re not finished.”

Harry noted the fierceness in James’ eyes—fierceness, he realized, for him. He sat back and stared at the man, unfamiliar with the idea that there was someone who was so invested in him and his well being.

James’ eyes hardened.  “He is not a pawn in this war, Albus. Lily and I will not stand for it, or do you want a repeat of—” He stopped and closed his eyes as if in pain.

Albus’ eyes saddened, and the determination that had filled the older man dissappeared as he appeared to deflate.  “I have made a great number of mistakes in my life.”

“Yes, you have.”

“I will respect your wishes, then.” He looked James steadily in the eye. “But please understand that Harry has a connection with Voldemort.”

Harry caught the smallest flinch in James’ eyes.

The older wizard ignored the other man’s discomfort and turned to Harry. “A connection such as the one you have, Harry, is dangerous.  I trust that you will apply yourself and do exactly as Remus instructs.”

“Yes, Sir,” he replied. 

Satisfied, Albus nodded at James and stepped into the fireplace where he disappeared in a swirl of blue flames. With the old wizard gone, James turned to Harry. Gently, he rested his hands on Harry’s thin shoulders, every bone noticeable.

“You, as a person, matter. Don’t ever forget that. Just because there is a war going on doesn’t mean we need to lose our humanity. If there’s one thing we need to remember, it’s that.”

Harry nodded.  “Alright.”

James let go of Harry’s shoulders and gestured to the doorway leading into the kitchen. “Come on.  Let’s finish breakfast.”

Harry sat down beside his godfather to finish his breakfast as James disappeared out the back door and quickly reappeared with a large wrapped box in hand. He handed it to Em, who excitedly took it and quickly dropped it on the table, eyeing it with trepidation.

“What did you do to it?” She glared at her father before giving the box a hesitant poke.

“It’ll probably explode,” Sam commented, watching on with interest.

Harry scooted his plate away from the brightly wrapped present as his godfather chuckled beside him.

“You helped!” Em accused Sirius.

Sirius broke out in a grin. “Open it,” he urged.

Keeping the gift at arm’s reach, she gingerly removed the wrapping paper. When nothing exploded, she leaned in with more confidence. Em lifted the lid off the box, reached in slowly, and pulled out a miniature broom that immediately grew to normal-sized. Her mouth hung open as she stared at the Nimbus1000—used, but refurbished—she held in her hands. And that was when the box exploded, showering Em, and only Em, in a fine mist of glitter.

 

* * *

 

 

The Weasley’s arrived first, filling the house with lots of red hair and noise. Soon after, more and more people spilled out of the Potter’s floo, faces lit in excitement and wrapped packages clutched in hand. Most of the people in attendance he either remembered from the Order meeting or he recognized from his world. A handful of younger children Em seemed to know arrived in a cluster and immediately began chasing each other through the house in an elaborate game of indoor-Quidditch until Lily ushered them all, Weasley children included, outside. Harry hung back, preferring to stay out of notice—and out of the way of the surly Potions Master who showed up much to Em’s excitement—until Hagrid arrived.

The half-giant emerged from the floo with a large pink box tucked safely beneath one of his arms. He shook his head to rid himself of the fine coating of ash and looked directly at Harry. His face paled, and his arms went slack. Lily quickly darted forward to save the box as Hagrid’s eyes teared up.

“Look at yeh. I know Dumbledore said yeh were—” The large man pulled his handkerchief from his coat pocket and loudly blew his nose. “Oh, come ‘ere.” Hagrid grabbed Harry around the shoulders and hugged him tightly, sobbing loudly.

“It’s good to see you too, Hagrid,” Harry mumbled into the man’s moleskin coat.

“Yeh know me!”

“Of course I know you. You were my first friend.”

Hagrid pulled away and wiped hastily at his eyes. “I told meself I wouldn't blubber away, but here I am lookin’ like a crying fool.”

“It’s okay, Hagrid.” Em patted the large man on the back. “He was a surprise to us too.”

Harry felt people stare at him and he took a deep breath, allowing himself to be okay with the attention. 

Hagrid blew his nose one last time then crumpled up his handkerchief and stowed it away in the inside pocket of his overcoat. Then, remembering something, he patted his pockets and muttered to himself, “I havn’ forgotten to bring it, have I?”

Em peered at Hagrid curiously as the half-giant rooted around in his dozens of pockets. Finding what he was searching for, he pulled out an old and worn hat Harry recognized.

“Dumbledore will be late. He asked me ta bring this so yeh can be sorted, Em.”

James set a chair down behind Em as the party guests gathered around. Conversation drifted towards the sorting, many people remembering their own sorting at Hogwarts many years ago or predicting what house Em would be sorted into.

“She’ll be Gryffindor, for sure.” Ron moved to stand beside Harry. “There’s never been a Potter that’s not been in Gryffindor.”

Hagrid set the old hat on Em’s head, and an expectant hush settled on the party as they waited for the verdict. Em sat with her mouth hanging open, and Harry wondered what the hat was saying to her. A minute passed and then two more, the adults fidgeting.

“Sure is taking its time sorting her out,” Ron commented.

“Did the same for me.”

Ron twisted his face. “You think it wants to put her in Slytherin, too?”

“Only if she wants to.”

“You can’t pick your house,” Ron argued. 

“Yeah, you can.”

Ron didn’t have time to respond as the seam in the old hat opened. “RAVENCLAW!” it bellowed, having long since grown accustomed to announcing sortings in The Great Hall.

“Wow.” Ron winced and leaned in towards Harry. “That’s a first.”

 

* * *

 

 

Harry looked through the small pile of gifts on the table. Dinner had finished not too long ago, and the sound of dishes and silverware clinking could be heard in the kitchen as the adults put the kitchen back into proper order. His stomach was almost uncomfortably full of lasagna and cake, and he appreciated the quiet moment he managed to grab as Lily ushered all the party-goers Hogwarts-aged or younger out the kitchen door. In the rush to be the first out to the Quidditch field, Harry slipped out the opposite door and into the sitting room. On the far wall, the coffee table had been pushed back against the wall, and people had piled gifts into towers. His eyes were drawn to a large and familiar pink box, and with one finger, he lifted the corner of the lid and laughed at the large cake sitting within.

“Hagrid’s specialty rock cake—not exactly edible.”

Harry turned. James stood beside him. “I know. He sends me one every year for my birthday.” A painful swell of longing for his friends back home lodged itself in his chest. “Hagrid gave me a cake almost exactly like this on my eleventh birthday.” A memory surfaced in his mind, making him laugh. “My cousin, Dudley, tried to eat it, and Hagrid gave him a pig’s tail.”

James’ eyebrows raised in appreciation. “Sounds like something Sirius would do.”

“Yeah, but we shouldn’t encourage him.”

Laughing loudly, James ran a hand through his hair. “No, no we shouldn’t.” He grew quiet after a moment. “Sounds like Hagrid is a good friend of yours in your world.”

He nodded and looked at the pink frosting that iced the cake and the  _ Happy Birthday Em!  _ written in green icing. “He was my first friend.”

“Your first friend?” James frowned.

“Yeah, I’d never had a friend until then. Dudley, always made sure of that.” Silence developed between them, and Harry stared down at the floor, aware that he had shared too much. “I’m sorry,” he said, not exactly sure why he felt the desperate urge to apologize.

A hand came down to rest on his shoulder, gentle and warm. “You don’t ever need to apologize for how your family treated you.” James pulled him into a tentative embrace and held him for a moment before releasing him and ruffling up his hair. “So, why are you inside and not out there playing Quidditch with everybody else?”

Harry shifted ever so slightly from one foot to the other and hiked one shoulder in a display of adolescent avoidance. James suppressed the urge to groan and instead took the teenager by the shoulders and guided him out of the living room. He pushed Harry through the kitchen, where Lily was busy cleaning up dinner, before pulling Harry's coat from the pegs by the back door and ushering the boy outside.

“Go and spend some time with people your own age.” James laughed. “It’ll do you good.”

Pulling the coat on, Harry followed the shouts and yells coming from beyond the trees, emerging in the field where an impromptu Quidditch game was in progress.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Chapter Twelve**

 

Ron guarded three conjured hoops on one end of the field, hands gripping his broom handle as his sister sped towards him with a Quaffle in hand. George rounded on his sister, Beater’s bat in hand and Bludger not too far away. The bludger had been charmed to be harmless and, therefore, flew sluggishly through the air. Swinging his arm back, he smacked the black ball, trying to botch his sister’s throw. Ginny, anticipating the Bludger, dodged to the side and scored on the far hoop with an elated _whoop!_ Ron deflated and hung his head. Behind him, Em zoomed around on her new broom as her friends watched from the ground and waited for their turn up in the air. Above them all, Sam hovered and scanned the surrounding field.

Harry stood off to the side and watched Sam. A glint of gold caught his attention behind Sam. Years of seeking had conditioned him to keep his eyes trained on the small gold ball, and his body twitched with an instinctual need to chase after it. The Snitch fluttered above Sam’s head and then zipped and spiraled in circles as if taunting the boy. Sam saw none of this as he watched solely what was in front of him. Harry rolled his shoulders and suppressed the urge to magically louden his voice and shout advice up to Sam.

“Watching you is almost painful.” A broom was thrust into his hands. “Go and fly. Be a  kid.”

Harry glanced to his side. Sirius stood beside him with amusement dancing in his eyes.

The broom Sirius had given him was an old Cleansweep model, but Harry would make do. Swinging his leg over the broom, he kicked off and was up in the air, joining the melee.

“There you are!”

Harry spun around as Ginny rounded on him, pulling up on her broom to avoid crashing into him.

“Where did you go after dinner?” She leaned in towards him and there was something about the way she looked at him that made Harry slightly uncomfortable—though uncomfortable wasn’t exactly right.

“We need a better Seeker than Grumpy Pants over there.” She gestured with her thumb over to Sam who sent Harry a glower as he hunched his shoulders and gripped his broom. “He couldn’t find the Snitch even if it buzzed in his ear.”

“I’ll, uh—” Harry scratched the back of his head and turned back to Ginny. “I’ll see what I can do.”

He circled around and flew off as a confusing heat crept up his face and his heart gave a panicky thump or two in his chest. As he approached Sam, he surreptitiously wiped his palms on his pants.

“Hey,” he said cautiously..

The younger boy’s glower deepened. “What do you want?”

“Just thought you might want some pointers.”.

Sam spun his broom around violently. “This is ‘cause I suck, right?”

“No, that’s not—”

“Well FINE!”

Harry flinched slightly and pulled back as Sam surged past him, the tail-end of his broom nearly running into Harry’s.

“I didn’t even want to play, anyway,” Sam screamed almost as loud as if he’d casted a _Sonorous_ on himself.

The Weasleys, Neville, and Luna stopped and watched Sam’s outburst before turning to Harry. Harry made a display of shrugging before the game resumed and he began his hunt.

Down on the ground, Sam stormed off the field and pushed away Sirius and the other adults who had ventured outside after cake and ice cream to watch a game of Quidditch and chat among themselves. But for a cursory glance, Harry ignored the ground and began circling the field. His body felt charged and focused as he hunted for the Snitch. A Bludger drifted just past him, nearly grazing his left shoulder.

“So sorry about that. “George flew past, mischief written across his face. “My bat slipped.” He held up the offending stick of wood.

“Of course it did,” Harry shouted back at him, receiving a cheeky smirk in return.

The sky, having darkened when he arrived, faded to black, the stars spreading across the expansive canvas. Hovering spotlights, charmed to illuminate the field, brightened as the natural light disappeared. Down below, the adults began filtering back inside, ushering the younger crowd inside—Em protesting loudly—while Harry and the others continued their game. It wasn’t long before he caught sight of a golden glimmer halfway down the field. Harry went after it.

As he honed in on the hovering Snitch, Ginny sped up beside him. He darted a questioning glance at her, and she sent him a cheeky grin, strands of red hair flying loose from her ponytail. Determined to not be distracted, he pulled his attention back to the Snitch that swerved right, left, up, and then zig-zagged off faster than either of them could fly. Harry went after it even when he couldn’t see it anymore, Ginny close on his broomtail. He felt a hand grab onto his broom and give a light tug.

“Oi!” He circled around to glare at Ginny. “That’s a foul.”

She pushed her hair back and smirked. “Only if it’s a real game.”

“You still can’t grab onto someone’s broom.”

Ginny leaned forward, and Harry moved slightly away. His movement away from her seemed to create a shift in her body language. She looked away, face drawn and eyes distant. Her fingers gripped her broomhandle, and she glanced at him once more before returning to the ground. Harry sat and watched her, perplexed at her behavior, until an enraged shout across the field had him reflexively drawing his wand.

“What did you do to my sister?” Ron came barreling towards Harry.

“Wh—what?”

Pulling his wand out, Ron aimed it at Harry.

Harry acted quickly. “ _Protego_!” A translucent blue shield formed around him. He watched Ron, cast in a warbled blue, pull his broom around, shock on his face. Harry was vaguely aware of shouting coming from the ground but ignored it as he kept his eyes on the red-haired boy on the other side of his shield. When Ron dropped his wand, he canceled the shield spell.

“Why is my sister crying?” Anger continued to redden Ron’s face, but he eyed Harry with interest.

George came up behind him. “What’s going on?”

Harry glanced at the ground where Luna had gone after Ginny and then back at Ron. “I don’t know.”

“You said something to her, didn’t you?” Ron said, turning to George. “He did something to Ginny.”

Backing up, Harry made sure to put some distance between him and Ron. George glanced at the ground where Luna was making an attempt at consoling her.

“She grabbed my broom and I told her in a real game that would be a foul,” he said. “Then she went all funny.”

Ron scowled. “Went all funny did she?”

George studied Harry thoughtfully for a moment before heading down towards the ground.

With a cry of frustration, Harry threw his arms up. “I did nothing to your bloody sister!”

“My _bloody_ sister?”

A hand grabbed at Harry’s coat and nearly pulled him off his broom. Locking his feet on the end of the broom, Harry shoved hard at Ron.

“Who do you think you are?” The red headed boy swung a fist at Harry’s face.

“Get off me!”

Harry’s heart pounded. Despite this not being _his_ Ron, the last thing he wanted to do was fight with him. A hard blow to the side of his head left Harry’s ears ringing. His glasses flew off his face and disappearing into the grass meters below. The world turned blurry.

“Stop! Both of you.” Neville forced his way between both boys and grabbed onto Harry’s arm as he wobbled on his broom. “Why are you fighting?”

“ _He_ insulted my sister.”

Grumbling under his breath, Harry turned his broom downwards and landed in the grass beside Luna and Ginny. Ron followed him, shouting at his retreating back.

“Oh, get off it Ron!” Ginny pushed herself into her brother’s face and gave him a sharp kick to the shin. She glanced at Harry, her cheeks colored with embarrassment, and handed him his glasses. “He didn’t do anything.” She bit at her bottom lip and avoided looking at Harry. “I’m sorry, Harry.”

“Um—” Harry scratched at the back of his head.

Ginny forced herself to look at the boy. “I just—I just keep forgetting that you’re not—” she shrugged, “—you know, _him_.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You shouldn’t have to apologize for something you have no control over,” Neville said.

Sending her brother a pointed glare, Ginny made to kick him again in the leg. Ron dodged out of her way. “Fine,” he muttered. “I’m sorry for accusing you of doing something to my sister.” He gestured at Harry’s face. “And for that too.”

“Right then, now that’s out of the way,” Ginny planted her hands on her hips and turned to Harry, “What was that spell, and how do you cast it?”

“What spell?”

“The one that made that Ron’s jinx bounce back at him.” George moved in towards Harry with interest.

“Yes,” Ginny said with a nod. “Can you show us?”

Harry dropped his broom to the ground and held his wand at the ready. Ginny and the others watched on with acute interest. “It’s the Shield Charm,” he explained. “You move your wand like this and say _protego_.” The air around Harry shimmered as an invisible barrier formed around him. He held the spell for a moment before dropping his wand, the shield dissipating.

Ginny watched Harry intently. Confident she could replicate the spell, she set her shoulders back and lunged forward with her wand. “ _Protego!_ ”

“That’s right, Ginny.” Harry smiled at her. “Good.”

Harry moved slowly between each person, watching their wand movement and taking note of their pronunciations.

“Ron, it’s pro-TAY-go,” he corrected at one point.

“Oh. So, that’s why it’s not working.” Ron frowned at his wand, spell-o-tape wrapped around one end. He waved his wand and tried again.

“Try this, Ron.” Harry stood beside the red-haired boy and lunged forward, making a parry with his wand as he cast the spell. “Where you aim is where the shield will be, and make sure to say the spell with confidence.”

Ron took a deep breath and blew it out through his nose. He slid a glance to George, who had already mastered the spell and was having a contest with Neville to see who could block a tickling charm the fastest. Redirecting his focus, Ron tightened his grip on his wand. “ _Protego!_ ”

“Well done, mate!” Harry slapped a hand against Ron’s back.

Startled, Ron took a step back, wide-eyed. “We’re not mates.”

A fist twisted Harry’s insides. No, of course, this Ron was not his friend. While his face and red hair were the same—along with his penchant for feeling overshadowed by his older brothers—he had not met this Ron on the Hogwart’s Express nor had he spent summers at this Ron’s home or countless evenings in the Gryffindor common room playing chess. Disorientation coursed through him, and he took a deep breath.

The boy beside him shifted from one foot to the other. “We-we’re not mates, but we could be,” he said.

Harry looked up. “Alright. I’d like that.”

“And you should teach us more Defense spells,” Ron said. “If you know more.”

A chuckle escaped Harry’s lips. “Sure.”

 

oOo

 

Later that night, Harry puttered in the kitchen long after everyone had gone to bed. The house had a dark but restless feel to it. Shortly after Harry and the others had returned to the house, James, Sirius and half of the attending Order members had been called away. Lily had ushered Harry, Sam, and Em to bed once the house had emptied of party guests, but Harry had trouble staying asleep, nightmares plaguing him. Playing with an empty drinking glass, he focused on his breathing and practiced bringing up his anchor. Immediately, the sound and smell of an ocean filled his senses. He leaned on the counter’s edge, ocean still residing in the back of his mind, and thought about Hermione.

It had been nearly a week since James had told him the fate of his friend. Despite knowing that his Hermione was alive—as far as he knew—in his universe, the fact that this universe’s Hermione had been dead for years still made his gut twist. He had a sudden, strong urge for the company of his curly-haired friend. She always helped him make sense of what was going on around them. Harry wondered what Hermione would think about the situation Harry was currently in. He could imagine her frenzied fervor as she researched anything and everything about alternate universes.

Harry heard the Floo activate in the next room, and James stumbled into the kitchen a moment later. He dropped his medical bag on the floor and sank heavily into one of the chairs. Sirius followed soon after, neither spotting Harry.

“Prongs, you did all you could.” Sirius threw himself into the chair next to James and ran his hand down his face. He groaned.

“It still wasn’t enough,” James said, and Harry could hear the heaviness of exhaustion in his voice.

Fidgeting, Harry picked up the water glass. Sirius looked up at the sound.

“Harry” he said. “Didn’t see you standing there.”

James lifted his head and frowned. “What are you doing up?”

Harry turned the water glass in his hands. “Nightmares,” he said, his eyes flicking between the scorch marks burned into their clothing. “What happened?”

Fatigue filled James’ eyes as he met Harry’s green eyes. Harry thought for a moment they were going to tell him he wasn’t ready yet, that he was still just a boy. However, Sirius pulled out a chair and indicated with one hand that Harry should sit down. Harry sat, watching the two men.

“The Order has been working on regaining control of the Ministry,” Sirius explained as James rubbed at his face tiredly. “We’d managed to infiltrate—”

“Voldemort is clever and intelligent,” James cut in. “He could see what we were trying to do and was several steps ahead of us before we realized what was going on.” Groaning, he rolled a shoulder gingerly and flicked a glance at Sirius. “We’re just going to have to regroup and try again.”

Harry watched as James straightened up. The older man looked at Harry with the expression of someone who refused to give up, but his tired hazel eyes betrayed his exhaustion and despair. It made Harry slightly uncomfortable to see such raw and unchecked emotion, and he wanted to look away.

“Harry? What happened to your face?” Sirius turned Harry’s head gently.

The pair of hazel eyes across the table sharpened, and Harry pulled away from Sirius’ hold. “It’s nothing,” he said, rubbing at the tender bruise on his cheek that he’d almost forgotten about. He had managed to hide it from Lily earlier that night, the woman too wrapped up in coaxing Em—resistant to the idea of bedtimes—upstairs and dividing her time at the fireplace as she answered several firecalls. “Ron and I got into a fight.”

James’ eyebrows shot up in surprise as Sirius asked, “What happened?”

Harry leaned back in his chair and stared at the floor tiles. “I don’t even really know.”

“Did you at least get a good punch in?” Sirius asked. He nodded at Harry’s face. “It looks like he did.”

“No.” Harry touched at his face and winced.

Standing from the table, James moved across the kitchen and opened a drawer. He spent a moment rummaging through it before snapping it closed.

“Here.” James pressed a small, round tin into Harry’s hand and pointed at his face. “It’s for the bruise.”

Opening it, Harry eyed the yellow paste warily.

“If you don’t put it on yourself, I’ll do it for you.” James nodded at the tin. “It’s good for you.”

“It’s good for you.” Sirius chuckled and shook his head. “Prongs, when did you stop being a troublemaker and turn into a father?”

James turned to face Sirius. Sirius, who had leaned back in his chair, balanced on the back two legs. James extended a leg and gave Sirius’ chair a shove, sending Sirius crashing to the floor.

“Harry, when you’re done with the Arnica Cream, give it to your godfather here.” James schooled his face into one of faint concern. “I fear he may have bruised his arse.”

“Oh, you’re _real_ funny, Prongs.” Sirius remained on the ground.

James leaned down. “I always have been and always will be a troublemaker, dear Padfoot.” The tension that had filled James’ face moments earlier had faded, leaving in its place the smirk of a prankster.

Finished applying the greasy cream, Harry handed it to his godfather. Sirius waved it away with a glare and got to his feet, righting the chair.

Returning his attention to Harry, James ignored Sirius’ continued attempt to murder him with ever deepening glares. “So, what happened? Start from the beginning.”

So, Harry started from the beginning, telling his godfather and James everything from Ginny grabbing his broom and getting upset to Ron flying into a rage and socking him in the face. In the middle of his explanation, James stood and began the process of making tea. When Harry finished, James set a cup down before him and sat back down.

“The Weasley children have been friends with my children for a long time—long before they were Hogwarts-aged.” James took a sip of his tea. “Ginny and my Harry were always really close.” A smile formed on his lips. “Lily and I used to joke that they would—” The smile slipped from his face and he shook his head. “That’s neither here nor there anymore.”

Harry watched as Sirius reached over and grabbed James’ forearm, squeezing it. James covered Sirius’ hand with his own and Harry watched a look pass between them, a look of understanding and compassion shared between good friends.

James looked up at Harry. “When Harry died, Ginny didn’t take it well. None of us did, but Ginny seemed to take his death particularly hard.”

“She said sometimes she forgets that I’m not him,” Harry said.

Sirius rested a hand against the back of Harry’s neck.

“Daddy?”

James twisted around. Em stood in the doorway.

“I heard a noise,” she said.

“We’re just having tea.” James stood from his chair. “You should be in bed.”

“Can I have tea?” She moved into the room and sat down beside Harry. “‘Lo, Harry.”

“‘Lo, Em,” he said in return.

James pulled her chair away from the table. “No tea. Bed—now.” He pointed at the doorway.

Em pointed at Harry. “Harry’s having tea.”

“He had a nightmare and is going back to bed,” James said. He gently ushered his daughter out of the kitchen.

Sirius turned to Harry. “That’s right. You had a nightmare. You want to talk about it?”

“Not really.” Harry yawned.

“Well, looks like you should be in bed too.” Sirius stood and collected the tea cups.

Moving out of the kitchen and into the sitting room, Harry hesitated at the foot of the stairs. The darkness and the screaming man from his dreams suddenly seemed all too real. He turned towards his godfather.

“Can I sleep down here with you tonight?”

Sirius gave his godson an understanding look. “Don’t want to sleep alone?”

Harry shook his head, already heading to the loveseat. Sirius transfigured a few pillows into bedding and made sure Harry was settled before _noxing_ the lights.

It wasn’t until a few hours later that Sirius was pulled from his sleep by a noise. The room was pitch black, but he knew what that noise was. Rolling off the couch, he transformed in one motion. A black dog leapt onto the loveseat and settled down at Harry’s feet.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Chapter Thirteen**

 

Waves crashed against the shore, sending froth spitting up into the air. The ocean was deep, expansive, and firmly tethered to Harry’s mind. In his hand, he gripped his wand, eyes scanning the yard behind Remus’ cottage. From around the far corner of the house, a wooden disk flew through the air.

“ _Reducto_!”

The wooden disk exploded into splinters that rained down onto the ground. Harry turned, watching for the next target. The ocean wavered, and Harry gripped onto it as another target flew out from behind a tree to his left. He spun around, the disk exploding. One after the other they came, until he was nearly doubled over, sweat running down his back despite the chill in the air. A hand came to rest gently on his back.

“You’re doing well,” Remus said, squeezing his shoulder.

Running a hand through his hair, Harry let himself relax, and the ocean faded away. A nudge at the back of his mind had him turning around. Remus gave him a stern look, and Harry pulled his ocean back into focus.

“Sorry,” he said, scratching at the back of his head. The effort of maintaining his anchor made his head ache. “Keep forgetting.” Harry ran a hand down his face.

Placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder, Remus steered him back towards the house. “Your assignment between now and the next time we meet is to practice holding onto your anchor for long periods of time through the day. It’s important to build up mental endurance before you’re even close to being able to withstand a direct attack.”

After tea and a very needed vial of headache potion, Harry started heading back to Whitehaven. Walking through the field, he stopped just as he came upon the field and ducked behind a tree. Up in the air, Sam flew sharply upward before diving down. A dozen meters before he reached the ground, his broom wobbled and he pulled up. Harry heard Sam’s sharply-uttered swear and watched as the boy tried again and again, unable to get the falling swoop and sharp upturn of a perfectly executed Wronski Feint.

Harry scratched at the back of his head, his weight shifting from one foot to the other in indecision before he finally had seen enough. He went to the small broom shed at the edge of the clearing, grabbed the first broom he found, and was up in the air within seconds.

“You’re not trusting your instincts enough,” Harry hollered across the clearing.

Startled, Sam pulled his broom around, a scowl deepening the furrow that seemed to be a permanent fixture on his face. Staring at the boy who could have, in a different life, been his brother, Harry had the rush of disorientation that occasionally overcame him the past few weeks. Sam had the same coloring that Harry did—James’ hair and Lily’s eyes—and it was a bit like looking into a mirror and seeing his younger self. The situations he found himself in were often strange and unorthodox, even for the Wizarding World, and this one was the strangest.

Sam’s fingers gripped the broom handle tightly as he glowered at Harry. “What?”

“You’re too tense and too focused on not hitting the ground,” Harry pointed at the boy’s hands, “and loosen your grip.”

Despite his surliness, Sam repositioned his hands on his broomstick. “Now what?” He flicked a glance at Harry.

“You can’t fly like you’re scared of hitting the ground.”

Sam shook his head. “Impossible,” he said dismissing the idea. “How can you not be scared?”

Harry sat back on his broom. “I didn’t say you can’t be scared.” His could-have-been brother was perpetually moody, and Harry found it mildly irritating. The moment that thought passed through his mind, Harry had to laugh, thinking back on his own behavior over the past year. Apparently, he and Sam had more in common than he’d thought.

Sam scratched at his head and eyed Harry strangely. “Why are you laughing?”

A cold wind had picked up, and Harry rubbed at his face, his skin stinging with the chill. “I wasn’t laughing at you,” he said. “It’s—” He shook his head. “It’s nothing.” Turning his back to the wind, Harry continued on with the instruction. “It’s all in how you fly. If you let your fear get the better side of you, then you’re done.”

“But how do you do that?”

“Well, you have to let go.”

Sam frowned, and Harry noted it was out of confusion, any hint of Sam’s petulance gone. “Let go of what, though?”

Harry took a deep breath. Explaining a Wronski Feint was proving harder than he’d thought. “Right, when you’re flying, what do you feel?”

“What do I feel?” The frown deepened, the edge of Sam’s mouth curling up. “I don’t know. I feel the wind and the broom?” He glanced at Harry as if seeking reassurance.

“No, not that.” Harry patted his chest. “What do you feel in here?”

“Um—”

Harry needed to change tactics. “When you’re diving to the ground, you’re feeling fear, right? Your heart races, your breathing picks up, and you get that shivery feeling in your stomach as you see the ground hurtling towards you, right?”

Sam nodded.

“You have to gain control over that. Relax and breathe,” he said. “Feel the wind on your face, and just as you think you’ve gone too far, pull up hard.”

The expression on the other boy’s face told Harry that Sam wasn’t completely sold on the idea.

“Sometimes I close my eyes,” Harry said.

A laugh exploded from Sam’s chest. “You’re bloody mental.”

Harry snorted. “You’re not the first person to tell me that,” he said and then gestured at Sam. “Give it a go, then.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “Now?”

“Yeah. Unless you have anything better to do.” Harry gave Sam a wry grin.

Glancing at the ground, Sam took a deep breath and dove straight down, his descent fast. It wasn’t a perfect dive, and Sam pulled up far too soon, but it was a vast improvement over what Harry had seen fifteen minutes ago. When Sam returned to Harry’s side, his face flushed and a gleam in his eye, Harry clapped the younger boy on the back.

“That was good,” he said.

A smile pulled on Sam’s mouth, but he quickly pushed it down and moved away from Harry with his scowl back on his face as if he just remembered who Harry was. The change in Sam’s expression was fast, like the changing of the tides. Harry chose to ignore it and continued on talking.

“Now, do it again and—”

“You’re not my brother.”

Harry stopped his instruction and stared at Sam. The other boy refused to look at Harry, instead glaring at his broom. “Yeah, I know,” Harry said.

Sam clenched his jaw and looked away. “Why are you even here?” His shoulders were hunched and he rubbed at his face. “You’re not my brother. You’re not him.”

Wondering what was the right thing to say or even if there _was_ a right thing to say, Harry shrugged. “I don’t know why I’m here,” he said, guessing Sam meant more than just why Harry was in the field with him. “It just happened.”

“All I wanted was my brother back.” Emotion drowned Sam’s voice in anguish. “Then you came and you’re so much like him. I hate it.” Sam forced himself to look at Harry. “I hate you for making me feel like this.”

“I….uh—” Harry stumbled over his words, rubbing at the back of his head.

Sam’s shoulders sagged. “I just want my brother,” he said in a whisper. “That’s all I ever wanted.”

Harry thought of what Sirius would say. His godfather always knew what to say, even if you didn’t know that you needed to hear it. Harry lacked that particular ability, and he wished for it to make the pain in Sam’s voice go away. It hadn’t occurred to Harry until this moment that he cared for Sam, despite the boy’s coldness and distance. If things had happened differently, Sam could have been Harry’s brother. That counted for something.

“It’s okay,” he said with hesitation. “It’s okay to feel like that.”

Sam shook his head. “No, no it’s not,” he said. “Dad would say I should grateful for the chance to get to know you, but all I see when I look at you is pain.”

“It’s a little hard to look at you, too,” Harry said. “You’re the brother I could have had if my parents had lived.” When Sam looked away with guilt across his face, Harry added, “You shouldn’t feel guilty for your own emotions.”

Rubbing at his face again, Sam gave Harry a hesitant look and then sighed. “Yeah, alright,” Sam rubbed at his nose.

Harry blinked and then nodded. “Right, then. Let’s see it again.”

Confused, Sam turned to Harry who pointed at Sam’s broom. “The Wronski Feint.”

An hour later, both boys landed on the ground, sweat dripping down Sam’s face. Harry, having regained much of his endurance since his injury three weeks ago, fared better. After Sam had had enough of Wronski Feints, Harry had given him some much needed advice on Seeker strategy and advised him on better flying posture and formation. Sam had a tendency to become frustrated easily, but he was a quick learner. Harry had begun to recognize the natural Potter Quidditch talent that Sirius was always going on about. It was rusty in Sam, the boy not having proper training, but identifiably present.

“You’re going to be teaching the Weasleys Defense, aren’t you?”

Harry, who had been putting their brooms back in the shed, turned around. “What?”

The defensiveness had returned to Sam’s stance. “Don’t lie,” he said. “I overheard you and Ron talking about it the other day when he was over.”

“I wasn’t going to lie,” Harry said, shutting the shed door, “but, yes, I’m going to teach them a few spells and things.” He glanced around the clearing as if expecting James or Sirius to spring out from behind a tree. “And keep it down, will you? It’s a secret.”

“What’s a secret?” Em stepped out from behind a close cluster of trees, innocence written across her face. She held her hands clasped behind her back and smiled at the two of them.

Sam groaned and rolled his eyes and Harry raised an eyebrow.

“How much did you hear?” Sam asked.

The smile on her face grew. “Enough,” she said, rocking back and forth on her heels.

“What do you want?” Sam glared her down.

“To be part of Harry’s defense class.” She beamed at Harry.

“No,” Sam said at the exact time Harry said, “Well, alright.”

Sam’s head snapped around as his sister made to look smug. “What?”

Harry shrugged. “It’s my defense class, so it’s my say in who is a part of it,” he said and looked at Em, “but it _is_ a secret.”

 

oOo

 

It wasn’t until the middle of February that Harry managed to hold his first defense class, and even then, it almost didn’t happen.

“I thought you’d changed your mind,” Ron said when Harry, Sam, and Em appeared in the clearing behind the Burrow a half hour later than they had planned. The red-haired boy had his arms crossed, his wand dangling from his fingers.

The rest of the under-aged Weasleys, along with Luna and Neville, stood around chatting in the large clearing in the orchards surrounding the Burrow. It was cold that day, but the sun shone brightly, chasing away any unpleasantness caused by the chill. Ginny, an old but thick cloak tied around her throat, stood beside Luna and sent Harry a tentative smile.

“Sorry about being late,” Harry said, rubbing his hands together to warm his fingers. “ _Someone_ thought it would be funny to switch out the Floo Powder.”

Ron grinned, any irritation at their lateness gone. “Is that why your hands are blue?”

“My godfather has a sick sense of humor,” Harry said, rubbing his hands on his pants.

“Prank war?” Ron asked, his grin turning sympathetic.

“Yeah.” Harry glanced at him.

Sam, standing beside Harry with his arms folded and a scowl planted on his face, said, “You get used to it,” he said.

“And you should make sure to check your bed before climbing in,” Em said. “Dad likes to hide things there.” She grinned. “The last time we had a prank war, he hid a whole nest of flobberworms in Sam’s bed and—”

A hand clamped around Em’s mouth. “Don’t you dare,” Sam said, giving her a threatening glare. “You promised.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Em jerked her head away and gave Sam a shove, “and don’t do that.”

Sam gestured in disbelief, hands open. “What do you mean you weren’t going to say anything? That’s a load of Hippogriff crap.”

Harry sighed and shook his head, unsure if he should intervene or let them have their row. He was unaccustomed to having siblings, and despite the nagging feeling that he should break up their fight, he didn’t know where to begin. Sure, he’d broken up a row or two between Ron and Hermione, but that had been different. He watched as Em stooped down and ripped up a clump of grass and hurled it at Sam.

“If it comes to blows, we’ll break them up,” Ginny said, standing at Harry’s elbow. She gestured at his fighting brother and sister. “They fight all the time.”

“They once had eleven arguments in one afternoon,” Ron said, his tone of voice revealing that he was impressed by this.

“You know, someone should check their ears for Wrackspurts,” Luna said, her voice soft but insistent. “Under the right conditions, an infestation can result in increased levels of hostility.”

Harry glanced at the girl, her blond hair shining in the sun. She wore an old pair of jeans embroidered with stars and around her neck was what looked like a dried bunch of flowers tied to a leather cord.  “I don’t think that’s the problem, Luna,” he said.

The girl nodded. “Oh, alright then,” she said, moving away to inspect a patch of dead grass.

“So, Defense class,” Ginny said. “How do we start?”

Harry scratched at the back of his head, partially distracted by Sam and Em’s argument that continued on. “Well, how about you tell me what you know?”

What Harry could determine, they all had at least the equivalent Defense knowledge of a Third Year. Beyond that, Ginny and Ron’s knowledge was patchy and Luna’s was questionable. Neville, however, seemed to have the most knowledge, discussing with Harry the variety of jinxes and curses his father had taught him. Based on what they knew, Harry decided disarming and shield spells were a good place to start.

Halfway through his explanation and demonstration, he noticed Sam stalk off through a dense patch of trees. Once everyone had started practicing, he met Neville’s eye and glanced off into the trees. The other boy seemed to understand and nodded, moving over to Em who seemed lost.

Harry broke off from the group and headed into the trees. He found Sam sitting at the base of a tree, ripping clumps of dead grass, dirt, and snow up and tossing it to the side.

“What’d the ground ever do to you?” Harry asked.

Sam glared up at him. “Nothing.”

Harry sighed. “What’s wrong?”

He groaned and rubbed at his face. “Doesn’t she ever just get under your skin?”

“Who?”

“Em,” he said.

Harry sat down in the snow beside Sam. “Not really,” he said, “but my cousin, Dudley, always did.”

“Ugh, mum made us have dinner with them once before the war got serious.” Sam pulled a face. “Did you really grow up with them?

Laughing, Harry picked up a handful of snow. “Unfortunately.” He packed it into a ball. “I didn’t really have a choice.” He pointed at a tree several few steps away with a prominent knot twisted on its side. “Bet you I can hit that knot dead center.”

Properly distracted, Sam grinned, the first real grin Harry had seen on him. “Right then, if you miss, what do I get?”

 

oOo

 

When they returned to Whitehaven, the kitchen was full of people, and a cacophony of voices rose above each other, not in argument but in debate and discussion. Scrolls of parchment and what looked like Muggle paper covered the kitchen table. Tacked to the back wall was a large piece of paper. A mess of numbers and equations were written across it. A man Harry didn’t recognize spoke about trajectories and universe alignment. Harry hovered in the doorway and realized he didn’t recognize half of the people in the kitchen. Sirius, leaning over the table beside James, looked up.

“Harry,” he said, sidestepping between two people to reach his godson. He glanced at his godson’s hands and smirked. “I see the blue has faded.”

Bristling, Harry glared at Sirius.

“I’d be careful if I were you, Padfoot,” James said, clapping Sirius on the shoulder. “Harry here was telling me the other day of this hex that turns your bogeys into bats.”

At the mention of Harry’s name, a lull happened in the conversation, and curious gazes settled upon Harry. Harry gave a half-smile as Sirius took him by the shoulder. James followed after Sirius, the two men guiding Harry through the kitchen and into the sitting room.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked, craning his neck to get a better look at the series of numbers and letters on the paper fixed to the wall.

“Trying to figure out the connection between your world and this one and how to open a door,” James said.

Harry stopped walking. “You mean there could be a way back?” He didn’t know how to feel. He missed his friends and knew they needed him. However, his eyes drew up to meet James’ eyes and then shifted to Lily across the room, and the man seemed to understand Harry’s pause.

“We’re still a long way from understanding how to open a door,” James said, giving Harry’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You don’t need to worry about that just yet.”

A fire had been set in the fireplace and Harry sat down in one of the chairs. Sirius pulled the ottoman over and sat down as James took the other chair. Harry looked at his godfather and dread made his stomach drop as he registered the grave look on Sirius’ face.

Harry shifted in his seat and glanced at James. “What? What is it?”

“We’ve gotten clearance to take you to see Hermione’s grave.”


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Chapter Fourteen**

 

Harry dreamt of darkness. It surrounded him, impenetrable and suffocating. Something darted by on his right and Harry turned. It was Hermione. She was younger than he had remembered, a child’s face where he had expected one of a young woman. The girl ran through his dreamscape, eyes wide and mouth open in gasping terror. She spun around and fell to her hands and knees, head twisted around as she watched something unseen to Harry’s eyes. Then Hermione began screaming, and Harry screamed with her. Her terror was his terror. He rushed towards her, arms outstretched.

But he went right through her.

A cloaked figure rose above the girl, wand pointed. Hermione’s screams rose to a crescendo. Her body arched, eyes rolled, fingers spasmed against the ground. Harry sat, watching. There was nothing he could do.

A flash of green, and she was dead.

Hermione and the cloaked figure faded away, but Harry remained. Sitting on the ground, he pulled his knees up and stared at the place where Hermione had been until there was a shifting of movement to his left.

His dreamscape had taken on the shape of indistinct rooms, an endless maze that wound from one to the other. To his left, he could just see into the next room. Standing up, he moved towards the room, hesitating in the doorway as a wave of unease washed over him.

The smell hit Harry first, a nauseating miasma of agony and fear gone stale with time. It was dark, but between the darkness, more cloaked figures stood shoulder to shoulder. It felt real; it _was_ real. Harry didn’t want to see what they were all looking at. Backing up, he turned to go back through the door, but it had disappeared, leaving behind stone wall punctuated by the occasional lit torch.

A man screamed, and Harry turned around. The sound crawled up Harry’s spine as recognition dropped heavily into his gut. He didn’t know why the man’s scream was familiar, and he didn’t want to find out. Squeezing his eyes shut, he willed himself to wake up.

“I’m dreaming,” he told himself. “Wake up, wake up.”

“You’re not dreaming, my boy.”

Startled, Harry jumped, eyes flying open. The mass of robed figures had parted slightly, revealing a tall figure pushing his hood back with long, pale fingers. Disbelief washed over Harry in a dizzying swirl.

“I’m pleased you could join us tonight.” Lord Voldemort stood, looking more man than monster than Harry had remembered. “There is much we must discuss.”  
Pain split his scar and Harry screamed. Wetness covered his fingers, but the blood wasn’t his own. He was on his hands and knees and looked up. Blood had run across the floor from the center of the room. Rivulets of it wound paths through the stone flags. But it wasn’t Harry’s.

Laughter rose up around him.

A man lay in the center of the room, half on his side. He faced Harry, eyes open but unseeing in the lost way of those having undergone far too much. A sharp spike of gleeful joy shot through Harry’s mind, foreign against the horror and nausea. The man blinked.

“You know this man, don’t you?” Lord Voldemort laughed. “Of course you do.”

Harry screamed as there was a tearing sensation. He had a vague sense of the ocean and then there were hands on him, shaking him.

“Harry!” someone said and then directed to someone else, “Where’s that blasted Calming Draught?”

Gasping, Harry shot out of his bed and hit the floor. Someone hovered over him and he scrambled away. A sour stench rose up around him.

“You’re okay, kid.” A hand pushed his hair out of Harry’s face. Sirius crouched in front of Harry, face pale and eyes wide with fright. “I’m right here.”

“J-James,” Harry said, struggling to form the words. “James...is he—Voldem—” Bile rose in Harry’s throat, and he vomited.

The biting stench stung his nose, mixing with the sourness. Harry glanced down, realizing he’d wet himself. Shame rose in him and he looked away, wanting to fold in on himself. Sirius, seeing his godson’s inward retreat, waved his wand. A fresh pair of pajama pants replaced Harry’s soiled ones, and a gust of freshness banished the sticky sickness that covered Harry’s hands.

“Harry?” James knelt down beside Harry, offering him an unstoppered vial. “Drink this.”

Harry stared at James, trying to make sense of the fact that James was right in front of him and not on the floor, bleeding and broken. He took a deep breath and took the vial, but his fingers shook and half of it spilled. James steadied his hand.

“You’re okay,” James said, his voice even and calm. “You’re safe.” He exchanged a glance with Sirius as Harry began to shake.

Harry wrapped his arms around himself.

“You were having a nightmare, kid,” Sirius said, his hand resting heavily on Harry’s shoulder.

After downing the potion, Harry ran a hand over his face. “I was dreaming?” he asked. “It didn’t feel like a dream.” His scar ached and throbbed, and he pressed his hand over it to help dull the pain.

“Does your scar hurt?” Sirius asked, taking the empty vial from Harry.

James leaned forward. “Let me see.” He gently pushed Harry’s hand out of the way, and Harry let him.

“It felt so real,” Harry continued, wincing at James’ probing. “Voldemort was there, and you were there.” He looked at James. “On the floor, surrounded by Death Eaters.”

James froze.

“They had tor—” Harry swallowed the word, unable to revisit the image even as the Calming Draught took hold. “You were—”

Pulling his hands away, James paled.

Sirius sent him a brief, questioning glance, then returned his attention to Harry. “James has been here all night, sleeping down the hall.”

Closing his eyes, James took a deep breath and ran a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. His fingers shook and his breath came unevenly.

Harry looked at James then Sirius. “It was like when I dreamt of Mr. Weasley being attacked or of you in the Department of Mysteries.” He visibly relaxed, the Calming Draught taking its full effect, though his face remained drawn. “I was there and it was real.”

“But it was just a dream, Harry,” James said, his voice rough. He cleared his throat as Sirius gave him another odd look. “I’m right here.” He reached out and rested his hand on Harry’s arm as if to prove that he was indeed there.

“James?”

James turned to the door where Lily hovered in the doorway, dressing gown hugged around her body. “He had a nightmare, Lils,” he said.

Lily quickly moved around the bed and knelt down where Harry still sat curled against the wall. “Are you alright, love?” she asked, brushing hair out of his face. “Come on, I know just what you need.” She took his hands and gently pulled him to his feet.

As Lily lead Harry out of his room and downstairs, Sirius directed a pointed stare at James. “What the bloody hell was that about?”

James gave him a quick glance then stooped to pick up the pillow that had fallen on the floor. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Taking the pillow, Sirius chucked it at James. “I’m not blind, James. I can see you shaking.”

James glanced at his hands which trembled. Eyes closing, he clenched his hands in an effort to make them stop. When they wouldn’t stop, James snapped, shoving Sirius with a shout of anguish.

Sirius laughed, the sound having no humor and only darkness in it. ”Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be then?” He shoved James against the wall. “Do you take me for a fucking fool?”

James tensed and his breathing shuddered in a way that made Sirius nervous. It reminded him of the day James’ parents were murdered. The look that had been on James’ face—barely restrained rage mixed with the sharpest of agonies—was a ghost of the look on his face now.

Sirius backed away and said more softly, “Talk to me.”

James remained frozen against the wall for a long moment before he pushed past Sirius. He made his way downstairs, through the sitting room, and out the front door. He moved with quick purpose, as if he were trying to escape something.

Sirius ran after him. “Will you stop? What the bloody hell is going on?” He shut the front door as James’ walk turned into a run.

His friend shifted into a stag and took off at a sprint. Soon after, a large, black dog followed, giving chase in an age old game the both were familiar with. However, instead of the joy run Sirius was familiar with, it was a mad, chaotic dash. His canine senses followed the trail of the stag, an acrid and sharp edge to the scent that spoke of distress.

Branches whipped across his face, and Sirius kept his body low to the ground. A strained grunt sounded to the right and he made a sharp turn, emerging into a small clearing on the far side of the house. The stag stood in a patch of pale moon light from the nearly full moon. He pawed the ground, snorted, and rammed his head into the trunk of a tree.

Sirius dashed in front of James before he could make another lunge and snarled. The stag gave an instinctive growl back and shifted. James laid on the ground, gasping. He gripped his hair, pulling as if the pain of that erased some other pain he was feeling.

Sirius shifted back to human form and stared down at his friend. He was suddenly confronted with the fact that this James was not the James he had known as a schoolboy. This James, in some regards, was still a stranger. He’d lived and experienced years of a life that Sirius had not been privy to. Standing over James as he descended into a mental breakdown, Sirius did the only thing he could think of. Shifting back into a dog, Sirius raised his snout into the night air and howled. It had been their distress call as boys, and Sirius could only hope that it meant the same thing in this universe.

 

oOo

 

Remus prefered to not think about the three months that they had all thought James was dead. It was supposed to have been the largest Death Eater raid planned, the raid that would have lead to The Order’s stronger hand over Voldemort. Instead, it had been a Death Eater raid gone wrong born from faulty intelligence. They had walked right into a trap and most had fallen if not taken prisoner. It was one of the biggest turning points in the war, the point where The Order and Resistance’s numbers began to dwindle enough that Voldemort had been able to take a firmer hold.

It had been shortly after the fall of Hogwarts, and they were all still reeling from Harry’s death. James and Lily were just barely hanging on. Remus still remembered Lily’s face when they returned without James; he remembered the cracks that formed in her resolve and the way she struggled to force herself to stay upright and standing. He knew Lily, and he knew the sort of strength that resided in her bones. But Remus knew everybody had a breaking point, and he had feared the empty look he had often seen in her eyes over those three months. It was a look that still ghosted across her face from time to time when there was a quiet moment.

But then James had returned.

Remus ran a hand over his face as he poured tea into three mugs. The moon was close, and he felt the ache in his joints. From the other room, something broke, the crashing paired with a distressed howl. Gathering the mugs of tea, he moved into the other room.

“Should we stop him?” Remus asked James, handing him a mug as Sirius took a lamp and smashed it against the wall.

James took it. “Not yet.” Cupping his hand around the warm mug, he inhaled the calming scent of chamomile. Remus always knew how to calm James down. James was easy, quick to anger but just as quick to be shown reason. Sirius, however, required patience and a will to just wait the anger out. “This isn’t how I wanted either of them to find out about…” He sighed, closing his eyes. “Merlin, I can’t forget Harry’s screams.”

Remus gave James a sidelong glance. He remembered when James had been a carefree schoolboy with a penchant for trouble which he had prided himself on. There were days when he longed for just a glimpse of that person, a person that had not experienced the horrors that James Potter had. There were sharp edges now.

Sirius _Reparo-ed_ the lamp and smashed it again, screaming and howling his rage and anguish.

“The Occlumency isn’t working,” James said and laughed, the sound filled with dark emotion. “He’s fifteen-fucking-years old, and we expected him to learn advanced magic to protect himself against a Dark Lord?”

Remus glanced at him. “He’s actually making good progress—more than I had anticipated. But you’re right. It was a battle we were losing before it even started.” He took a drink of his tea as Sirius began tearing through a stack of books on Remus’ desk. “If we had six months—hell, even three months, Harry could have managed.”

Groaning, James sat down heavily on the arm of the sofa. “Nightmares or visions we could have handled, but he sent Harry memories of—” Nausea rolled through James. A hand came down heavily on his shoulder, the gesture saying more than Remus could have formed as words.

With another pained howl, Sirius tore through another stack of books, his wand drawn. One burst into flames. Remus jumped. “PADFOOT!” Extinguishing the flames, he quickly cast a body-bind on his friend.

Sirius hit the floor with a thud, his chest heaving and tears running down his face as a mix of unchecked anger and anguish passed through his eyes.

Remus stood over Sirius and found it impossible to put anything but understanding and compassion into the glare he directed down at his friend. “Don’t burn my books,” he said as James knelt down beside Sirius.

“I survived—I’m okay,” James said, squeezing Sirius’ arm. “Those three months aren’t easy for me—” He stopped and ran a hand down his face.

The body-bind began to wear off, Remus’ spell not being of any particular strength when he’d cast it. Sirius gave a shudder. “Next time I see—” He bared his teeth and snarled before grabbing James and hugging him. “I don’t care what the bloody prophecy says. I’ll tear Voldemort limb from limb myself.”

 

oOo

 

Hermione Granger was buried alongside her parents in a small cemetery just outside of Hampstead. It was a Muggle community, or it used to be. The streets were deserted, houses empty and unkempt. It had the quietness and stillness of abandonment, and a strange darkness hung over the suburb that had nothing to do with the gathering storm clouds.

It was cold, and a fine mist dampened Harry’s hair as he stood in front of a grave stone that read:

 

_Hermione Jane Granger_

_19 September, 1979 - 2 March, 1989_

 

She had been ten years old. Harry hugged himself and shook his head, a cold wind messing his hair. Order members were spread out through the cemetery. Sirius, James, and Remus stood behind him, their faces drawn and solemn. James and Remus were familiar with the indiscriminate manner in which death worked, but each death rested as a small wound in their hearts. They had not known the girl, but Harry did. Sirius did know Hermione, and mourned the young woman she would have become.

Sinking to his knees, Harry reached out and rested his hand on her grave stone. “You don’t know me,” he said, voice quiet, “but I know you. If you had lived, you would have found out that you were a witch. You would have attended Hogwarts and you and I would have been friends.” Tears pushed against his throat but he pressed his emotions down. “In another life, you would have lived to be the smartest witch of our year, and one of the most formidable women in my life.” Unable to hold back the pain pushing against his resolve, Harry let his tears fall.

A hand came to rest on his shoulder, warm and looking to provide comfort. Harry bowed his head, not daring to breathe for the knot of pain in his throat. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled something out, placing it on her headstone. It was a small, blue flower—a forget-me-not.

“You’re not forgotten,” he said. “I won’t let that happen.”

He stood and turned. That was when the first spell was cast—a jagged, red curse cutting through the silence. James grabbed Harry by the back of his jacket as Death Eaters began appearing in the cemetery and pushed him behind a headstone. Harry landed on his hands and knees. Noise rose up around him, the sounds of battle.

“Stay there!” James shouted back at him as he rushed into the melee, his wand drawn and curses already flying.

The air quickly became charged with the bite of Dark Magic. Harry crouched behind the headstone, his fingers itching to help. He wasn’t completely helpless; he knew that. He’d faced Voldemort in his fourth year and again two months ago in the Department of Mysteries.

Off to the left, Tonks battled with a tall Death Eater with a vicious edge to her movements. A dark red curse hit her and she fell, the Death Eater turning, looking for his next battle. James stood just a few meters away. The Death Eater raised his arm.

Harry dashed out from behind the headstone. “ _Expelliarmus_!”

The Death Eater deflected the curse, sending a bright green bolt at Harry. Throwing up a shield, Harry staggered as the force of the curse hit his shield. The shield fell and Harry dropped to the ground as the curse passed over his head.

Rolling with the force of hitting the ground, Harry screamed, “ _Stupefy!_ ”

The Death Eater fell and James spun around. “What are you doing?”

“Helping,” Harry said. “I’m not a complete—”

“I told you—”

“I can help.” A Death Eater lunged towards them. Pain slashed through Harry’s calf and he cried out in pain.

If James had a response, it was drowned in his quick succession of curses and hexes. The wave of battle shifted, one moment favoring the Order and then the next the Dark. Sirius and Remus joined Harry and James as they worked through the Death Eaters, leaving a trail of bound and stunned bodies behind them. There was no time for scolding, only time to fight.

As Harry dodged to the left out of the way of a cutting hex, someone grabbed him from behind. Pain split his head in two. A wand pressed against his throat. He had just enough time to see the look on Sirius and James’ face as an eerie silence descended on the cemetery.

“Harry James Potter,” a voice behind him said. “In the flesh and blood.” The wand point dug into his neck. “I remember killing you.”

The Death Eaters still on their feet dropped to their knees. Harry watched James tense and grab Sirius by the back of his jacket. His godfather’s face darkened in anger, his fists balling. He struggled against James’ grip.

Behind Harry, Voldemort laughed. The sound was almost painful, and Harry squeezed his eyes shut as if that would protect him. “Do you remember dying, Harry Potter?” Voldemort asked. “I do. You were in pain. Do you remember that pain? No, of course you don’t. You’re not that Harry Potter.” The wand was removed from Harry’s neck. “Let me remind you. _Crucio_.”

Harry screamed as Sirius yanked himself free from James’ grip. Voldemort laughed and green light filled the cemetery, vivid and terrible.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

****

**Chapter Fifteen**

 

James screamed and saw nothing but rage as Harry and Sirius hit the ground. He would look back on this moment after the pain of loss passed to realize that rage was black and thick and ugly. But right then, it was all James had. Voldemort laughed, high and pleased, and pointed his wand at Harry, who rolled over, coughing. Sirius remained on the ground, quiet and motionless. James watched Voldemort form a curse; he watched Harry’s back arch off the ground. Then there was nothing but pure and unadulterated rage. When he came to, James was on the ground, Remus hovering over him. 

Voldemort was gone, the cemetery empty except for Order and Resistance members. Someone nearby was sobbing. James’ body tingled unpleasantly, and his fingers stung. Remus continued to hover, apprehension shading his eyes along with sorrow. Turning over, James looked to the source of the crying. He exhaled forcefully, as if punched in the gut.

Harry clutched at Sirius’ body.

James immediately went to him. “Harry…” He wrapped an arm around the boy’s shoulders but paused as he kneeled in a small pool of blood. With quick, clinical eyes, James found Harry’s right pant leg soaked in blood.

He pulled at Harry’s pant leg. “Harry, you’re hurt.”.

“No.” Harry shoved James away and clung to Sirius, his hands gripping his godfather’s limp arms as he begged Sirius to wake up.

He wasn’t going to fight with the boy. Sighing, James cast a clotting charm on Harry’s leg and took a moment to let his head rest in his hands. His head hurt.

“Potter.” Kingsley sidestepped a large scorch mark in the grass. “Voldemort will be sending reinforcements after his retreat. It’s time we go.”

James looked up as Remus joined Harry on the ground with Sirius. The Order and the Resistance were quickly disapparating, taking their wounded and those they had captured. As if remembering who he was, James hastily stood. “How many injured?” he asked, wobbling on his feet as he started forward. “Where’s Weasley? Have we started triaging?”

Kingsley gave James a long, measured look, studying him as if he hadn’t known James for the past fifteen years. Finally, he said, “Charlie managed just fine. You trained him well. Tonks was hit with a nasty cutting hex, and Longbottom took her to The Burrow.” Urgency was clear in his eyes. “We have to go.”

As if on cue, a dark figure popped into existence at the edge of the trees bordering the cemetery. More followed, the second wave of the attack. James lunged forward and grabbed Harry, who fought him, kicking and screaming. Squeezing his eyes shut, he thought hard of the clearing where his children played Quidditch.

 

oOo

 

It was nearing on midnight. James sat at the kitchen table, head in his hands and an empty glass beside him. The burn of Firewhisky still seared through his veins, distracting him for the moment. There had been a time in his life where he had turned to Firewhisky to help dampen his pain, both mental and physical. It had, of course, caused problems, and James had wizened up to his own vices and shortcomings. However, he needed the distraction. 

“It’s been years since I’ve seen this bottle.” Remus took one of the kitchen chairs, dragged it closer to James, and sat down. “Should I be worried?” He picked up the nearly full bottle, swirling the amber liquid around. Light reflected through the bottle, creating the illusion of flames within the alcohol.

Groaning, James looked up. “I’m fine,” he said.

Remus set the bottle down out of James’ reach and gave him a stern look. “You’re full of dragon shit, and you know it.”

“How’s Harry?” James asked as way of a distraction.

“Lily’s with him,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Em had a nightmare, so I sat with her for a bit. Sam’s in a right state, but I managed to get him to sleep.”

James groaned. “Fuck.” He let his head sink back down into his hands. A thick wave of emotion rose up in him, and he forced himself to take several deep breaths to prevent the sobs that were waiting and would eventually surface.

“You’re avoiding things, James,” Remus said, calm and measured. However, James knew better than to think Remus was composed. Between Sirius and Remus, Remus had always seemed the most level-headed. However, it had only been because Remus was better at hiding parts of himself.

He sighed. “It was only one finger’s worth.” Looking at Remus, he frowned. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Remus regarded James. “Like what?” he asked.

James threw his hands out. “Like Kingsley was in the cemetery and like you are right now,” he said, his voice rising. “What did I do?”

Crossing one ankle onto his knee, Remus slowly shook his head. “I’m not entirely sure. You went ballistic and there was this surge of magic.” His voice softened. “I have never seen Voldemort look scared like he did in that cemetery—except when facing Albus. What was that, James?”

“I don’t know,” James said. He had no memory of what he had done in the cemetery, and that unsettled him. “I can’t even think right now.”

Remus fiddled with the cap on the bottle of Firewhisky. “Albus is going to have questions for you,” he said.

James rubbed at his face, the weight of exhaustion increasing with each second. “Of course he is,” he said, his voice rough, and then mumbled, “My head hurts.”

“Are you okay?” Remus reached out and pushed James’ hair out of his face.

“No,” James said with an incredulous snort, his head resting heavily on the table. “Are you?”

Sighing, Remus sat back. “No.” He held the bottle of whiskey in his hands. Unscrewing the cap, he took a whiff and coughed. “How can you drink this stuff?” When James didn’t answer, he looked up. “James?”

A soft snore came from the man beside him.

 

oOo

 

It had been three days since visiting Hermione’s grave, three days since the raid on the cemetery, and three days since Sirius—

Harry couldn’t think it, let along speak the words. A vast numbness had taken up residence in his heart. He felt nothing for there was nothing to feel. Distantly, Harry knew there was pain and grief, greater than he could manage, but right then he relished the absence of emotion. It was his armor against the sharpness of everything.

Kicking against his blankets, Harry turned over in bed. It was the middle of the night, the moon nearly half-full. Sitting up, he ran his hands through his hair. A bubble of panic rose in his chest, and Harry struggled to squash it down. He focused on numbness, focused on the absence of feeling. When it subsided, he dropped his hands in his lap. Idly, he scratched at the healing cut on his calf. It had looked much uglier a day ago.

Standing up, Harry paced from one end of his room to the other. The bubble of panic returned, and Harry’s first instinct was to search out Sirius, to find his godfather and talk to him. Groaning, Harry scrubbed at his face.

His godfather was dead.

Suddenly, the room was too small. Throwing open the door, Harry went downstairs. At the foot of the stairs, he tripped over something. Catching himself on the wall, he looked down.

It was a pair of Sirius’ shoes.

Something in Harry broke. Picking up the shoes, he hurled them across the room with a scream. The numbness vanished, leaving behind the raw pain of reality. Howling, Harry kicked the wall. The pain in his foot did nothing to abate the pain in his chest. He sunk to his knees, hugging himself, and sobbed.

This pain was almost worse than the Cruciatus. It came in a steady stream, building and building until he couldn’t breath. Harry gasped. He couldn’t breath. The panic returned, and he threw his arm out reflexively. It hit the wall. 

“Harry,” a voice said beside him. “You’re okay.”

James wrapped his arms around Harry. Instead of pushing away, Harry sunk into James’ arms and screamed into his shirt. It hurt so much. Harry was sure there was nothing able to take away the agony. 

James tightened his hold on Harry. “Just breathe,” he said, closing his eyes against his own pain and grief.

“He’s dead,” Harry said, his breath hitching in his chest. He choked and gasped.

“I know,” James said. “I want you to just breathe.”

Harry tried to breathe, straining against the bands tightening around his chest. “Can’t,” he managed to say.

James ran a hand over Harry’s back. “Focus on your anchor,” James told him.

Struggling to conjure up the elements of an ocean in his mind, Harry coughed. Then it came, slowly but steadily. There was first the smell of salt, then the sound of crashing waves. 

Running a hand through Harry’s hair, James rocked him as he had his own children when they were much younger. “That’s it,” he said. 

Harry breathed, forcing himself to focus on his ocean. The waves rose and fell with a tumultuous power, mirroring his own mind. But he breathed, in and out. Going limp, he laid in James’ arms as emotional exhaustion overtook him. He wanted nothing more than to not move.

 

oOo

 

It was over an hour later that Harry sat at the kitchen table, a mug of partially-consumed hot cocoa in his hands. He watched James, standing on a chair, rummage around in the corner cupboard. With a small sound of discovery, he pulled his arm out of the cupboard.

“Don’t tell Lily that I have these hidden up there,” he said, tossing a packet of custard creams on the table. “She’d scold me for spending the little muggle money we have on sweets and then eat the whole lot.”

Harry looked at the half empty packet of biscuits.

“Jammie Dodgers are my favorite, but I haven’t been able to find any for months.” James pulled one of the sandwiched biscuits from the package and crammed it into his mouth before taking another and handing it to Harry. “You can hardly find Wizarding sweets anywhere these days. There are days where I’d  _ kill _ for a cauldron cake.”

Setting his cocoa down and taking the biscuit, he glanced at James. “You’re eating it wrong,” he said.

“I know,” James said, fishing out a second one. “Lily’s told me a hundred times and claims I continue doing it wrong just to push her buttons.” James grinned at Harry, the expression watered down but still genuine. “She’s not wrong.”

Pulling the two halves apart, Harry picked at the cream in the middle. James nudged his mug closer to Harry. “Drink it,” he said, giving Harry a critical look. “The Calming Draught I put in there is helping.”

Picking up the mug, Harry downed the rest of his drink. While the potion calmed his breathing and heart, it did nothing for the thoughts running through his mind. He set the mug down and closed his eyes, rubbing at his face. When he looked up, James was staring at him.

Harry fidgeted. “The dream I had the other night, the one about—” Harry cut off, fiddling with his biscuit.

James, who was on this third biscuit, looked at Harry. His expression was wary and hesitant, but there was little in the world that would prevent him from encouraging Harry to talk. So, clearing his throat, he said, “What about it?”

“It felt so real, the dream I had about you and...and, uh—.” He sighed and shifted in his chair. “It felt like the vision Voldemort sent me about Sirius before the Department of Mysteries,” he said, crumbling the custard cream between his fingers. Harry found it difficult to look at James right then. “But it wasn’t really like that vision, not really.”

James took the packet of biscuits and stood. 

Harry looked up at James, the biscuit crumbs worked into dust. “Were those memories?” he asked. “Did that really happen to you?”

Opening the corner cabinet, James had his back turned to Harry. He stiffened. Closing his eyes, he took a breath. “Yes, it did,” he said, his voice sounding hollow.

Stomach rolling, Harry pulled his knees up, resting his heels on the edge of the seat. He felt sick. James turned around and sat back down. He looked like he was going to say something, but Harry hunched his shoulders, staring at the blue stripes on his pajama pants.

Scooting his chair closer to Harry, James placed a hand on Harry’s knee. “Harry—”

“I had another dream that night,” Harry said, the words tumbling out of his mouth. “About Hermione.” Harry glanced at James. “I watched her die.”

Taking a breath, James let it out. “Oh, Harry.”

“It felt real, too,” he said, looking at the door leading to the backyard. “I think Voldemort showed me that for a reason.”

“Voldemort often has no reason other than to be cruel. You can’t read into it,” James said, leaning in towards Harry.

“He knew we were going to visit her grave,” Harry said. He closed his eyes, a ball of shame and inwardly-directed anger lodging itself in his chest. “I should have said something.”

“Harry—”

“I should have known,” Harry said, ignoring James. “I’m the reason Sirius is dead.”

“NO!” James took Harry’s chair and pulled it close. “Harry James Potter, you look at me right now.” His voice was hard, not with anger, but with despair that Harry would put the blame on himself.

Harry ran a hand down his face and started to cry, his shoulders shaking. “I don’t think. People always tell me that I don’t think.”

James grabbed his hands—they were wet and hot—and pulled them away from Harry’s face. “ _ Look at me _ .” 

Harry looked at James, and James was struck by his bright green eyes, full of pain and agony. They were Harry’s eyes—his Harry, this Harry. James found it a little hard to breathe for a moment, faced with the amount of love he had for this Harry, this Harry that he’d known for barely two months. James pulled Harry towards him. Harry rested his forehead on James’ shoulder.

“ _ Do not _ think Sirius’ death is your fault,” James said sternly, resting a hand on the back of Harry’s neck. “You did not cast the killing curse. You are not responsible. Do not take blame for things that you did not do.”

“But if—”

“No. It is as simple as that. We have a saying in the Resistance,” he said, gently pushing Harry back by his shoulders. “ _ Give blame to those who cast the killing curse. Anything else would be a disservice to those who have fallen. _ ” Ducking his head, James searched Harry’s eyes. “You understand?”

Harry closed his eyes, breath still hitching with sobs, but he nodded.

 

oOo

 

Sunlight streamed into the kitchen the following morning, paired with the smell of cooking breakfast. Bacon sizzled in a pan alongside mushrooms. Lily had told Harry a full English breakfast was in order that day. Harry stood at the sink, staring at the stack of dirty dishes with empty eyes. He was tired, wrung out and exhausted.

“Hand me those eggs over there will you, love?” Lily asked, pressing a kiss to his temple and motioning to the two dozen eggs sitting on the counter.

An emergency Order meeting had been called late the previous night, and people were already arriving. The bacon in the pan finished frying and floated out of the pan and onto a magically warmed plate, fresh bacon replacing it. Through the door leading to the sitting room, a steadily rising din of voices was heard. 

“You alright?” Lily asked him, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “You’re looking a touch peaky.”

Harry handed her the eggs. “I’m okay,” he said, leaning one hip against the counter.

Lily pressed the back of her hand to his face. “Sure you don’t want to have a lie down?”

He shook his head. 

“Well, if that’s the case, then you’ll have to help me with breakfast.” She grabbed for the pain hanging above the stove.

“I help you every morning,” he said.

Lily twisted around and smiled at him, the gesture warm. “Then can you get the larger frying pan from down there, love?” She pointed to the lower corner cabinet. “This one’s not going to be big enough.”

Harry moved to open the cabinet. It was a seldom used cabinet, and in retrospect, he figured he should have expected it. As he opened the cabinet, a soft bang sounded. Lily spun around, mouth open in surprise. The door opened, Em and Sam stopping in their tracks as their mouths dropped open. 

Harry looked down at himself and began making a sound that was somewhere between laughing and crying. He was covered in flour, from head to toe. A piece of parchment drifted down at his feet.

 

_ Gotcha! _

_ -Padfoot _

 

Harry’s laughing-crying fit turned into outright sobs, shoulders shaking as he held the note. Lily knelt down beside him as she glanced at Em and Sam. “Why aren’t you two dressed yet? Half the Order is here already,” she said, James poking his head into the kitchen, his hair sticking up on end.

His eyes immediately went to Harry. “I heard—”

“Delayed prank went off,” Lily said, giving him a meaningful look. “I have it under control. Go and be a good host,” she said and added, “And make sure George doesn’t blow anything up and Mundungus doesn’t steal anything.”

James winked at her and disappeared. Lily redirected her attention to her children. “I repeat myself,” she said, looking at Sam and Em. “Why aren’t you dressed?”

“It’s mostly just the Weasleys so far,” Sam said, reaching for a piece of bacon as Em watched Harry, her chin wobbling.

“Hey!” With one hand cradling Harry’s face, she directed a stern look at Sam. “Hands off the bacon,” she said as her free hand reached out and took Em’s hand.

Sam froze, bacon in hand. He looked down at the bacon for a moment before cramming it into his mouth, giving his mother a rebellious look. Lily was familiar with her son’s moods, however, and recognized the dark and lost look in his eyes. 

“Sam,” she said as he turned to leave.

He stopped, shoulders tensing, before turning.

_ I love you _ , she mouthed.

Rubbing at one arm, he shifted his weight but returned the gesture, the rebellious look gone from his eyes.

“Now you two go get dressed,” she said, indicating the door with her chin.

As her two younger children disappeared through the kitchen door, Lily pulled Harry to his feet. His crying had quieted.

“That was unexpected,” she said, brushing flour out of his hair.

Harry laughed and wiped at his face. “I wonder how many pranks he has set up around the house.”

Lily sighed, staring at the mess on her floor. “Surprise pranks were always his favorite,” she said. “I’m sure we’re in for several surprises.” 

Harry laughed sardonically, and Lily hugged him before ushering him upstairs to get changed. After a quick shower and a change of clothes, Harry was immediately pounced on by Ron, George, and Ginny as he exited the bathroom.

“Big news,” Ginny said at the same time Ron clapped him on the shoulder and said, “I don’t know how you did it.”

Confused, Harry allowed himself to be lead down the hall to his room.

Closing Harry’s door, Ginny rounded on him. “First, how—”

“I’m fine,” he said, his tone short and clipped. He averted his gaze, not wanting to talk about Sirius’ death. They seemed to catch on for George shrugged and shoved something hard in his hand, content to get on with whatever it was that had him and his sibblings buzzing with excitement. “It’s a prototype,” he said. “But I promise it won’t blow up.”

Harry nearly dropped the object. It looked like a small pin. “What?” He glanced from one Weasley sibbling to the other.

“You haven’t heard?” Ginny asked.

Ron’s eyes lit up. “How can you not have heard?”

George glanced at his brother. “He hasn’t heard.”

“You’re going to get to sit in on the Order meeting today,” Ginny said.

Harry frowned. “What?”

“Have you gone hard of hearing?” Ron asked, grinning.

George took Harry by the shoulders, pretending to give a serious examination of Harry’s ears. “Maybe I should—”

Pulling out of George’s grasp, Harry frowned with confusion. “I don’t get it.”

“You,” Ginny said, pointing at Harry, “are going to attend the Order meeting today. I heard Mr. Potter talking about it with dad.”

“So, we have to talk strategy,” Ron said, pointing to the pin in Harry’s hand. “None of us—well, except George—can attend the meetings.”

“Finally passed my final exams with enough N.E.W.T-level marks,” George said, beaming proudly, “and Dad argued my case to Mum. I am the newest Order recruit.” He grinned and nodded at the pin. “And that is my newest, non-trademarked creation. I haven’t named it yet, but I’m willing to take suggestions.”

Harry looked at the pin with trepidation. “What does it do?”

“If you wear it, it will transmit to this dicta-quill,” George said, pulling a black quill from his bag. “And it will transcribe everything you hear.”

“And it’s safe?” Harry held the pin between two fingers as if it were a volatile substance.

“Very,” George reassured at the same time Ron said, “We haven’t tested it, but it should work.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “It’s not going to blow up?”

George shook his head. “I don’t think so.”


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Chapter Sixteen**

 

The sitting room of Whitehaven was packed with witches and wizards from wall to wall. Harry stood beside James watching the commotion. Across the room, Lily stood next to Molly, the two women speaking with their heads close together. Every now and then, Lily would flick a glance at Harry and smile. He fiddled with the hem of his shirt. Then, remembering the pin that was currently attached to the fabric, he forced himself to stop. Across the room, George gave him a subtle thumbs up. Or, at least George thought it was subtle.

“George has that look about him that he gets before pulling off a prank,” James said, leaning in towards Harry casually. “What’s he planning?”

“Dunno.” Harry looked away from George.

James snorted. “That’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one.”

Harry glanced at James who winked and nudged him with an elbow. “Let’s just hope it’s not too destructive.”

The Floo fired up, Severus stepping out. He gave his robes a quick, sharp snap to rid them of ashes and then moved quickly through the pack of people towards Lily and Molly. He leaned down to speak in Lily’s ear. Turning away from Molly, her face brightened as she descended into a flurry of gestures and questions. It was something Harry was surprised he recognized: the descent into slight madness often seen when she was talking about the intricacies of spells or runes—or most often potions. He glanced to his side where James was also staring at her. Lily briefly turned her head, meeting James’ eyes, her face flushed. She grinned at her husband.

Across the room, Harry spotted Remus, and there was a nudge at the back of his mind. Harry’s ocean had started to become a permanent fixture in his mind, and Remus had taken to testing him at random points of the day. Remus gave him a pleased nod as he slipped in beside James. “I’ve gotten word that this is going to be big,” he said.

James leaned his shoulder into his friend’s and indicated Lily and Severus with his chin. “Whatever it is has Severus involved and Lily excited,” he said and stared at the woman as if he were still sixteen and not thirty-six and married to her. “I love her most when she’s like that. Remember fifth year?”

“How could I not?” Remus chuckled. “It was the first time you’d willingly gone to the library. Granted, it was to oggle at a girl, but still.” He turned and gave James a serious look. “I was impressed.”

James snorted and elbowed Remus. “Oh, shut it. I’d been in that library plenty.”

“Plenty of times for Lily to catch onto your oggling.” Harry watched a satisfied smile stretch across Remus’ face. “Didn’t she throw a Charms text at you once?”

“Yes.” James failed to look admonished. “But it was actually her Potions text.” He turned and gestured for Harry to look at the the side of his head. “It left a bit of a dent in my head, but I forgave her.”

“Didn’t you get that during Quidditch?”

James waved a hand at Remus. “Oh hush.” He turned back to Harry. “Now, Harry, the secret to woo-ing a girl—”

A hand clapped lightly on Harry’s shoulder.

“Best be cautious about any advice you get from this sorry chap.” Frank Longbottom nodded his head at James. “James knows just as much about woo-ing a girl as he does about Muggle bowling.”

James forced his face into one of seriousness. “Do as I say, never as I do or have done,” he said, finger pointed at the boy, then looked at Frank. “And I know plenty about Muggle bowling. Lily took me once.”

“That was mini golf,” Frank said and then added for Harry’s benefit. “He has good intentions, but a very poor giver of advice.”

Harry watched as James, Remus and Frank volleyed words back and forth with the long-practiced ease of lifelong friends. He contented himself to listening in on the men until a tall man entered the sitting room with enough presence that heads turned and conversations came to an end.

The man climbed onto the coffee table and held up a hand. He had a scar running down the right side of his face, and he stood unevenly, regarding the crowd with a ferociousness Harry decided he never wanted to be the recipient of.

“Henry Edgington,” James said to Harry. “Leader of the Resistance.”

Early on in the war, the Resistance had risen separate from the Order, lead by a pack of werewolves who refused to join ranks with Voldemort. When Voldemort had proven a more formidable foe for either group to handle on their own, they had joined forces.

“This is going to have to be quick,” Henry said, his voice rough. “We have received several intelligence reports over the last twenty-four hours that lead us to believe Voldemort had been injured during the battle in the cemetery.” He paused and turned to James. “Whatever you did, Potter, you’ve weakened our enemy.”

Heads turned, people staring at James.

Henry grinned at James. On any other werewolf, it would have been an aggressive gesture, but on Henry, it spoke of admiration. “Remind me after this bloody war is over to never cross paths with you, Potter,” he said. “Fucking terrifying you are when angry.”

James’ only reply was raising an eyebrow.

“But we must act quick,” Henry said. “We have been waiting for an opportunity just like this, and we must be quick, swift, and vigilant.”

A few feet away, Harry heard Mad-Eye Moody mutter to himself, pleased. “Constant vigilance,” he said, his mouth twisting as he nodded. On reflex, Harry’s hand went to his wand slid into his shirt sleeve. Moody’s fake eye swiveled around, and from where Harry was standing he could look right into it. Mad-Eye gave Harry a long, calculating look followed by a quick nod which Harry returned.

Henry grinned broadly. “In an hour, we take back Hogwarts.”

There was a hanging pause as the people in the room stared. It was disbelief and shock mixed with hope. Then Henry began giving orders, and things moved fast.

 

oOo

 

When Hogwarts had fallen, it had been the catalyst that turned the war’s favor towards Voldemort. Without Hogwarts, there has been little else in the way between Voldemort and the Ministry. The school was supposed to be impenetrable, the safest place for wizarding children—Muggleborns especially—among the terrors that surrounded them. It had taken six hours for the school to fall—six hours and 246 murdered children. It had been easier to count the living when all was said and done. 

As Harry had stood and listened as plans were laid, he heard several familiar names: Carrow, Lestrange, Malfoy, Avery, and Dolohov. It was risky, the greatest risk the Order and the Resistance would take. However, gaining control of Hogwarts would open the door to retaking the Ministry. And with Voldemort incapacitated, however temporary, quick action was of importance.

Standing in Ron’s room that night, the Order and Resistance off on their mission, he stared at the cot Molly had set up for him. He was sure he would be sick right there in the middle of Ron’s floor. He felt so helpless. It had always been him and his friends off on missions like this. Harry had never been on the other end, left to wait to see if the people he cared about came out on the other side unscathed and still breathing.

His breath hitched in his throat. 

_ People he cared about _ . He’d always had people he cared about, but not like this.  _ Not James and Lily _ . He’d already lost Sirius, he couldn’t—

A knot lodged itself in his throat.

“Here’s the rest of the spare blankets and pillows, love.” Molly appeared in the doorway. “Is there anything else you need?”

Harry turned, startled, and Molly set a stack the bedding into his arms. “Uh, no,” he said, clearing his throat to rid himself of the thick emotion coating the back of his throat. “Thanks, Mrs. Weasley.”

Smiling, she regarded him with the familiar Weasley Matriarch intensity that seemed to analyze and diagnose all at once. “It is no use to make yourself sick with worry,” she said, planting her hands on her hips. She leaned forward and ran a hand through his hair, trying to flatten it down. It was such a familiar gesture that Harry was, for a moment, overcome with a dizzying sense of disorientation, his world and this one melding into one. “As the eldest, you will lead by example,” she said quietly, giving him a meaningful look. “They’ll need you tonight.”

 

oOo

 

Lily stood at the edge of Hogsmeade. It was deserted and abandoned, buildings reduced to rubble. Darkness hung in the air, and she closed her eyes and took a deep, calming breath. She could taste dark magic, a sharp tang in the back of her throat that made her want to vomit. It hung over the small village and drifted in hazy clouds that clung to anything they could. Places that magical folk inhabited had a sort of life, an undercurrent of magic that ran through the ground and buildings. They were alive.

Hogsmeade was dead, but standing in the middle of the street, Lily could only be reminded of the fact that it hadn’t always been that way. She was reminded of years long since passed when she was a young witch, before Voldemort, before Death Eaters, and before war. They were years filled with school trips and laughter, chocolate frogs from Honeydukes and steaming mugs of tea from the Three Broomsticks. There were the smiling faces of Mary MacDonald, Marlene McKinnon, and Alice Longbottom. There was James on their first date, the first time Lily had seen the vulnerability behind the Potter charm as he fumbled and stuttered. She closed her eyes and she could see his face as he had been at sixteen—young and free.

A noise caught her attention to the right, a short whistle so faint anyone would have taken it for a bird or small animal. Lily knew better and whistled back before darting across the clearing and ducking behind a building on the outskirts of the once-charming small village.

A hand slipped into hers, warm but rough in areas, one as familiar as her own. “What were you doing standing out in the open?” James’ voice was a mix of astonishment and scolding. “Remus spotted a few Death Eaters patrolling just a few streets over. They could have seen you.”

“I know,” she said, squeezing his hand. “I’m fine.”

James gave her a long look.

Lily matched the look, her chin held high. “I said I’m fine.” She glanced behind her where the sound of boots crunching on gravel could be heard approaching. She drew her wand.

There was a shout.

A hot, searing curse went over their heads.

Lily ducked as James pushed her against the stone facade.

 

oOo

 

They would need him—Sam and Em. Harry rolled the idea of that responsibility around in his head as he made his bed. Halfway finished, he was interrupted by Ron baring into the room. He grabbed Harry by the arm. “We’re meeting down here,” he said, dragging him down the hall to Bill’s old room and shoved the door open.

Neville was already in his pajamas, and he sat on the floor beside Luna. They had a stack of parchments between them, and they were going through them in a systematic manner. Harry recognized them as the transcripts from that morning’s meeting. 

George had his back to the door, muttering to himself as he cursed at whatever he was looking at before chucking it into the rubbish bin. “Well, we’re down to one quill,” he said and then saw Harry and his face brightened. “You wouldn’t happen to have a spare dicta-quill, would you?”

Ron pushed past Harry and studied what looked like fragmented bits of plastic on the desk, careful to not touch anything.

“Uh,” Harry said, sitting down on the neatly made bed. There was a stack of blankets on it. If he remembered correctly, Neville was staying in this room. “No?”

“That’s a shame,” George said, his mouth twisting into dismay. “The first two from earlier today exploded.” He turned back to the desk. “Well, we’ll just—Don’t touch that!”

Ron pulled his hands away as George shoved him.

“Are you looking to lose a hand dear Ronnikins?” George asked, giving his brother an admonishing look.

Ron ignored George’s admonishment. “Is that the only one we have left?” He gave the quills a more skeptical look. “I thought we had three extras.”

“Unfortunately—”

“I found more!” Ginny rushed into the room followed by Em, who’s face was pale and drawn. “Percy had been hoarding a whole box.”

George immediately grabbed the handful from her and set about working.

Seeing Harry, Em plopped down beside him, pressing herself into his side. Sam followed, his face passive, but Harry could see the tension running through his eyes. It surprised him for a moment that he could read the other boy’s face, as if Harry had known him for years and not just a few months. He stared at Sam as he sat down at Harry’s feet and remembered Molly’s words. He straightened up and tried to think of something to say. However, the words:  _ Don’t worry, they’ll be okay _ , seemed lacking. Even Harry didn’t believe them.

 

oOo

 

The Death Eater laid on the ground among the stone and rubble from the wall he’d blasted, and Lily prodded his side with her shoe as James flicked the mask off. He stared at the face beneath the mask. A pool of blood had begun to form around his body. “How old do you think?” He glanced up at Lily who was rummaging around in her bag.

“You’re bleeding,” she said, glancing at his brow.

James reached up to touch his face, his fingers coming away tinged with blood. “It’s not bad,” he said, his eyes doing a quick check of the area, flicking from one end of the alley to the other before nodding at the stunned figure on the ground. “How old do you think he is?”

She paused with one arm still buried in her bag and redirected her attention to the body on the ground. Kneeling beside him, Lily ran a hand down the side of his face and frowned. His skin was still warm, but she could see trauma to his head. “No more than fifteen,” she said with the softness of a mother’s concern. “Harry’s age.”

James walked around the young Death Eater. “He’s recruiting them earlier.” He knelt down again and rooted around in the young man’s pockets but came up with nothing. There was a sound off in the distance, another animal sound, low but long. James stood, his head turning. “That’s Remus,” he said. “We’re regrouping.” He gave the young Death Eater one last glance and moved further down the alley.

Lily hesitated, her eyes stuck on the boy, her head shaking from side to side. “What a waste.” Then, tearing herself away, she followed James down the alley.

The alley lead down between buildings and eventually let out in the field beyond Hogsmeade. At first glance, it was empty. Lily and James ran, crouched low the ground, hand in hand, across the field to the meeting spot where Shacklebolt and Edgington were giving orders.

“Ran into trouble?” Remus asked quietly, coming to stand between Lily and James.

“Just a bit,” James said. “Nothing serious.”

Lily folded her arms and shifted from one foot to the other. “The Death Eater we came upon couldn’t have been older than fifteen. The wall he’d  _ reducto-ed _ had fallen on him.” A hand snaked its way through the crook of her elbow and she glanced at James, who gave her elbow a squeeze. “There was no helping him. We left him.”

Remus said nothing, for there was nothing to say for the legions of children who had and would die before the war was over. Instead, he rested his hand on Lily’s shoulder, the woman smiling and covering his with her own.

At the Forbidden Forest, the Resistance and Order split into several groups, some going north of the castle and others south so they would all form a circle around Hogwarts. Lily, James, and Remus headed forward, through the forest where they would reach the front gates. 

The forest still bore the marks from the Battle of Hogwarts. Great sections of trees were scorched or missing and a heavy haze hung over what remained of the forest. Lily, James, and Remus paused at the entrance, Remus lifting his face to give the air a sniff. There was no telling what sort of dark magic they would face.

“It’s silent,” James said, positioning himself between the forest and Lily. He lit his wand, but his  _ lumos _ barely cut through the darkness.

Remus paced from one edge of the path to the other. “Dead,” he said. “You mean dead.”

“Yeah.” He looked up at the darkness of the trees and the imposing shape of the castle far off in the distance. “Or it wants us to think it is dead.”

It was a clear night, the moon half full and the stars bright, but none of that was visible, the covering of darkness too thick. 

 

oOo

 

Harry sat and watched the Weasleys try to get the dicta-quills to work. Beside him, Em nibbled on her nails, her shoulder still pressed into his.

Sam glanced up at Harry and then frowned at Em, swiping at her hand. “Quit that,” he said.

Em kicked at him. “Leave me alone.”

Sam shoved back.

Harry cast a panicked look at Ginny. She returned his look with one of her own that said:  _ You’re on your own _ . And Harry found himself dropped into the role of older brother with not a clue of what to do. When their shoves turned into half-hearted punches and Em began screeching, Harry physically placed himself between the two and, with a frustrated shout, said, “Oi! Will you two quit?”

The fact that Harry shouted had Sam and Em freezing, their heads turning towards Harry, eyes wide.

He gave them a meaningful glare. “Do you want to give Mrs. Weasley a reason to come in here?” he said, gesturing at the dicta-quills George was casting spells over and Luna and Neville buried in reams of transcripts.

Sam, who had gotten to his feet while rowing with his sister, sat back down, frowning but silent. Em, however, hung her head and sniffled. 

“I’m worried about them too,” Harry said, placing a hand on her back, hoping he was saying the right thing. “We all have people we’re worried about right now, and fighting isn’t going to help anything.” He glanced around, everybody stopping what they were doing to stare at Harry. “We have to stick together. That’s what’s important right now.” He met Ginny’s eyes, and she smiled. Harry let out a breath of relief. 

It was a strange feeling, not fitting right among the people he felt he had known for years. They were different; he was different. He was a puzzle piece from a similar, but different puzzle. But, sitting there with all attentions directed at him, he didn’t feel as he had previously: a strange oddity for people to stare at. Harry felt more like he had while leading the DA meetings: a leader who people looked towards for direction. He looked at Ginny again, and she looked as if she were going to say something when one of the dicta-quills exploded. Ink splattered over George and he cursed loudly before freezing, his eyes trained on the door.

A tense silence held everyone, ears perked as they listened for the tell-tale footsteps of an enraged Weasley matriarch. Ron turned and gave Ginny a look before quietly opening the door and poking his head out into the hallway. Then he pulled his head back in.

“I think we’re clear,” he said

The room unfroze and conversations resumed. George cursed again and held up the exploded dicta-quill and squinted. “Bugger,” he muttered to himself, setting it back down.

“Did you get the spell right?” Ron asked, leaning over his brother’s shoulder. 

Neville twisted around and held out his hand. “I’ll have a look,” he said. Taking the offered parchment that George was working from, he scrutinized the spell George had scrawled across it. Ginny crossed the room and bent over Neville’s shoulder as Sam did the same, both making sounds of dismay at their inability to offer any ideas. Luna, who had been inspecting the underside of Bill’s bed, sat up and looked over.

“Have you tried writing it backwards?” she asked, pointing to George’s calculations jotted on the edge of the parchment, after a cursory glance.

“Backwards?” George asked, turning the parchment sideways.

Luna reached over and took the parchment. “Backwards, not sidewards,” she said and paused, frowning. “Though, sidewards might work.” Holding up the parchment, she squinted at it and then shook her head. “No, I was wrong.” She smiled and handed it back to George. “You should definitely try backwards.”

George took the parchment back, looking confused. Ron bent his head over the parchment as Neville pointed from one part of his calculations to the other, George shaking his head. The three deliberated for a long while before George finally gave a cheer of discovery.

“Inverted, not backwards, Luna,” he said.

Luna looked up, a collection of dust bunnies gathered by her feet. “Well, yes. That is what I said.”

Standing back, George cast the new spell over the dicta-quills. They glowed bright for a moment before the light seemed to sink back down into them. Grinning stupidly with the thrill of success, he grabbed several reams of parchments and poised the modified dicta-quills over them. Everybody in the room crowded around the desk and watched as the quills floated over the parchments.

George tapped the first quill with his wand and it began writing, curling script forming on the parchment. Everyone crowded around the parchment, Em pushing her way between Harry and Sam.

“Is that?” Harry began, squinting at the tiny words.

George looked up and grinned with pride. “A written report of the Resistance and Order’s every move? Yes.”

 

oOo

 

They had walked for a quarter of an hour, a length of time inconsistent with the distance still to be traveled with the castle still off in the distance. Remus hung back a pace, his senses on high-alert as his inner wolf picked up on the scent of danger that he couldn’t see. Lily stopped then, waving her hand at the two men. “I think here,” she said. “This is where we begin.” 

“I don’t like it,” Remus said.

James studied his friend. “If Moony doesn’t like it, then neither do I.” He gestured off in the distance. “Plus, the castle is too far away. Haven’t we been walking a long time already? Shouldn’t it be closer?”

She knelt down anyways. “If this is the place, then this is the place.” She reached into her cloak and retrieved the three vials, uncorked them, and poured the contents into the soil. The potion was thin like water but sat upon the ground instead of soaking in. The three watched, James tense and Remus pacing back and forth.

“It’s not working,” James said. “You’re wrong. We’re not close enough.”

Lily glanced up at him. “Give it a moment,” she said and looked at Remus. “And quit pacing, Remus. You’re making me nervous.”

“I don’t like how the forest smells,” he said. “It’s all wrong.”

“Of course it’s all wrong, Moony. Everything is all wrong.” James waved his arms around. “The whole world is grandly fucked up and we’re stuck in the middle of a bloody nightmare.” He stopped his tirade and looked down at his wife. “He has a point, Lily.”

She held up a hand. “Shut it,” she said, her attention focused on the ground, and when it  began to sizzle, she grinned. “Patience is a virtue, gentlemen.” Lily leaned over and pressed both hands into the wet dirt, digging her fingers into the gravel and mud.

Just as good could win against evil and light would push out darkness, life could cancel out death. At least, that was the theory The Order and Resistance were counting on. The potion was not the Elixir of Life, but it wasn’t far off. It didn’t have a name, not yet, but Lily could taste the rich power in it being this close to it. Severus had warned her of the potential dangers associated with the potion, the potential for madness if she didn’t get it right. It was a risk Lily needed to take.

 

oOo

 

The other two dicta-quills began scratching across the parchments. They divided into groups of two or threes, hunching over each parchment as the quills detailed the mission. The modified dicta-quills would only transmit spoken words, labeling names of those George had entered into the quills. It was a complex spell, and therefore, flawed. Twice, he had to reapply the spell, one quill malfunctioning and catching fire.

“Bloody hell,” Ron had said, scrambling away before he thought to cast an  _ Aguamenti  _ on the quill, the parchment disintegrating as it burned quickly. “Could you not make them catch fire, George?” he said, his face red and hot.

George glanced at him. “It’s still a prototype,” he said. “Have a few kinks to work out.”

Ron stood, the hem of his sweater singed. “Kinks, my arse.” His curse was punctuated by the other parchment imploding, leaving a small pile of powdered parchment in its place. Ron cried out, grabbing at the parchment dust. “No!”

“What happened?” Ginny asked, looking to George as the dicta-quill in Neville’s hand exploded.

Neville shouted in surprise, tossing the quill to the floor. He held his hands out, his skin covered in black ink. The room descended into a brief episode of chaos quickly followed by a set of angry footsteps and the door being thrown open. Mrs. Weasley stood in the doorway. The shouting stopped and heads swiveled around, guilt written across drawn faces.

“What is going on here? Did I hear explosions? Explosions?! Do any of you have any idea what time it is?” Her attention flicked between Ron and Ginny before resting on George. “Do I even need to ask, George?”

George looked at his mother and a ghost of a grin passed over his face before his expression hardened. “We wanted to stay informed. We hate being stuck here and feeling helpless every time there’s a mission.”

“Helpless? Helpless!” She pointed a finger at each of them separately, those who were not Weasleys ducking their heads. “You are children.” George opened his mouth to protest this, but his mother sent him such an intense glare that he shut it right away. “And don’t you even start George. You’ve been of age for not even two days and you aren’t even close to being cleared to attend missions.”

“You can’t protect us forever, mum,” Ginny said quietly, giving her mother an obstinate glare.

Mrs. Weasley rounded on her daughter, fury and terror reddening her face. “YES I CAN! And you can be assured that I will.” She paused as if waiting to see if any of them would protest, then added, looking at those that weren’t her children, “And you lot can expect I’ll be talking to your parents.”

They were all then ushered off to bed, Mrs. Weasley hot on their tails to discourage even thoughts of dawdling. 

 

oOo

 

The ground warmed beneath Lily’s hands and tingled against her skin. She stood and drew her wand, waiting and watching and hoping she did it right. It was still quiet but only for a moment. A sound off in the distance had her turning her head at the same time a beam of light shot up out of the ground.

“Now,” she said, raising her wand as the sound in the distance became a rumble.

James and Remus cast their patronuses, relayed a quick message, and sent the silver wolf and stag running in opposite directions.

The rumble grew, the ground trembling. Lily grabbed their hands, wands linked in their fingers, and they raised their arms to the sky and began to cast a series of spells. A web of magic rose from their wands, bright against the darkness. Off in the distance, a sharp glow appeared, one after the other.

The ground bucked beneath them and Lily stumbled. James pulled up on her arm until she got her footing. They continued casting, their words blending together into a stream of latin. The light from their wands joined with the casted spells off in the distance, forming a dome over the school. Around them, the world seemed to crumble: trees fell, the ground opened and closed, and a hot wind picked up.

She expected the upheaval, for the evil to fight back, but not for what came walking out of the forest. It started as a small figure, a child, arms outstretched.

Lily turned her head; James pulled on her arm.

“No,” James said, pulling her down the path closer to the castle. “Don’t look, Lily.”

But she had to. It was Harry, impossibly the way he had been when he was very small and still fit neatly into her arms. The words were sucked from her mouth, the spell cut from her lips. She had dreamt of this, dreamt of Harry being alive and not dead. “Harry,” she said, but her voice sounded a thousand kilometers away. She reached out for him.

“It’s not him, Lils,” James said, catching her around her middle as she started to go after him. “He’s not really here. It’s just a trick on our minds, the dark magic. It wants to distract you and drive you mad.”

Was this madness? The thought bloomed in Lily’s mind and she looked away from the boy. Would it happen this fast after pouring the potion? Did she get it wrong? She looked from James to Harry, words getting trapped in her throat.

Remus continued the chant, his voice growing hoarse as the glowing enveloped the forest, the lake, and the castle. He glanced at Lily, worry etching lines into his face.

“It’s not real,” James said again, his words pressed hard as if he were trying to push through to where her rational thoughts resided. “It’s the dark magic fighting back. It’s not Harry. Harry is dead.” He took her by the face. “He is dead.”

Her eyes slid from her husband’s face to the boy who had fallen to his knees. “Mummy,” she could hear him call out, beckoning to her. “Don’t leave me.”

Old grief welled up in Lily. It couldn’t be Harry.

Harry was dead.

This wasn’t madness, not if James and Remus could see him. Lily knew that and she was strong enough to look away, and that strength was agony. She had buried her son two years ago. He would never be alive and whole again.

The ground continued to shake and tremor, a dull thunder building in the distance. Lily looked up and began walking faster.  A tree toppled in the distance and something exploding lit the foreground in red for a brief flash. The front gate was visible and they hurried onward, the stone gargoyles watching as they pushed through the front gates and into an onslaught of battle.

 

oOo

 

Harry laid awake staring out the window of Ron’s room at the clear night sky. From where Harry was, he could see the moonlight reflecting off of Ron’s face, his mouth open in quiet snores. Harry shifted onto his side and looked across the room where Sam’s cot was set up. The younger boy’s eyes were open.

“I can’t sleep,” Harry said.

The other boy sighed. “Me neither,” he said.

“I keep thinking about them. I’m usually the one out getting into danger,” Harry said. “I’m never on the other side. I don’t like it.”

There was silence for a long time, enough time that Harry thought Sam had fallen asleep, when he finally said, “You get used to it.” The cot squeaked and Ron snorted from his bed. Sam sat up halfway, propped on his elbow and glanced at the red-head before looking at Harry. “Though that’s not really true. You get used to being in that sort of situation.” He paused and then sat up properly. “When Ha-Harry was—um,” he said, clearing his throat. “When he was at Hogwarts, McGonagall would write home nearly every week because of the trouble he would get into.” He laughed softly. “He used to say that trouble just followed him around.”

“Well, it certainly follows me around,” Harry said, finding himself grinning. “I swear I don’t go looking for it, despite what some people say.”

“I used to think he would go looking for it. He was like that, always jumping into things without thinking. He was my big brother and I looked up to him, but that always made me mad. I don’t think he realized how the rest of us felt when he went off and did stupid things.”

Harry scratched at his head. “I try to avoid doing stupid things, but sometimes they just happen. I can’t help it and I’m sure he couldn’t either. Did you know someone’s tried to kill me every year at school? Ok, granted, third year was just a misunderstanding.”

“What happened?” Sam asked.

“Sirius broke out of Azkaban and the whole wizarding world thought he was out to kill me.” Harry pressed the heel of his hands into his eyes and laughed. It was the first time in the past two days he’d said his godfather’s name without stumbling over it.

“That’s the last thing Sirius would do,” Sam said.

The door to Ron’s room opened slightly, Em slipping through the gap.

“I can’t sleep,” she said quietly.

Ron snorted in his sleep, and Em froze, staring at Ron. When he kept sleeping, she dumped a mass of blankets and pillows on the floor between Harry and Sam’s cots.

“I’m sleeping in here.” She plopped down into her nest of bedding and looking at the two boys.

“You can’t sleep in here,” Sam said. “Boys in one room, girls in another—that’s the rule.”

Em pulled a blanket up over her head. There was a sniffle but no answer, and Harry leaned over. “Em?”

“What if they die?” Her voice was small and strained, muffled through the blanket. 

“They aren’t going to die,” Sam said.

Em sat up, moonlight reflecting off her red hair as the blanket pooled around her waist. “Harry? What happens to us if mum and dad die?”

A pillow soared through the air from Sam’s bed and hit Em in the back of her head. Em gave the beginning of an indignant shriek before Sam lunged for her, his hand covering her mouth. “Just go on and made a loud ruckus.” He gestured to Ron. “You’ll wake Ron.”

Em pulled away and hiccuped. “He sleeps like the dead.” She sniffled.

“Still.” Sam sat down beside her. 

Looking away, Em wiped at her eyes but Harry could see her shoulders rocketing up and down as she cried. “Remus would take care of you,” Harry said, crawling off his cot and sitting beside Em and Sam. “If James and Lily died, Remus would take care of you.”

“He’s our Godfather,” Sam said. “That’s what Godparents do.”

“But Remus is  _ your _ Godfather,” she said.

“You really think Remus would refuse to take you in if mum and dad died?” Sam gave her a gentle shove. “You really are stupid sometimes.”

“What about Harry,” Em asked, choking on her words. “What about him?”

“What about him?” Sam meeting Harry’s eye. “He’s family too. He would come with us.”

Harry stared at Sam, at the rare heart the young boy occasionally displayed. “You remember what I said earlier, Em?”

She layed back down. “What?”

“That worrying over them doesn’t help them?”

Em ran a hand over her face. “But it doesn’t help me.”

“What would help you?” Harry asked.

“Knowing they’re okay.”

“You can’t.” It was the firm truth but the truth was often unkind.

Em cried and Sam, sighing, reached over and grabbed his blanket. Harry did the same, the three siblings nesting on the floor.

 

oOo

 

They were woken in the early hours of the morning by commotion downstairs. Half-asleep, Harry slowly went down, Em and Sam behind him, and emerged into chaos. Order and Resistance members spilled from the Floo, bloody and bruised and with scorch marks marring their bodies. Those who could walk, helped those who could not, the healers swarming around them. In the kitchen, Mrs. Weasley wailed, a sound that drew the hairs on Harry’s arms. He stared with wide eyes as she clutched at a body laid on the kitchen table. James stood beside her, blood covering one side of his face. He had one hand on Mrs. Weasley’s back as he shook his head. The look on his face was stricken, pained and agonized.

“Wha’s going on?” Ron appeared at Harry’s elbow, rubbing at his eyes.

Mrs. Weasley, hearing the voice of her youngest son, jerked her head up. With a cry, she rushed over to Ron, enveloping him in a hug. Ginny came down the stairs next, eyes wide and confused as her mother took her by the back of the head and pressed Ginny’s face into her shoulder. Harry looked over at the body on the table.

It was Charlie.

Bill and Percy emerged from the Floo along with their father. Tonks came next, her face pale and hair a violent shade of black as she ran over to Charlie’s body, screaming. Mrs. Weasley caught her and Harry watched as they congregated around Charlie. Behind Harry, Em pressed herself against Harry’s back and he was acutely aware of Sam standing close to him. James looked up right then, saw them standing at the foot of the stairs, and hurried over.

“M-mum,” Sam managed to say. “W-where’s Mum?”

“She’s okay,” he said, firmly. “She’s with Remus at Hogwarts.”

Harry frowned. “Did…”

James looked at Harry, a strange glint in his eyes. “We succeeded,” he said, running a hand through his hair and casting a glance across the room and added more softly, “We did it.”

He took Sam then by the shoulders and pulled him in. Sam didn’t resist and just leaned into his father. James pulled Em in and then looked at Harry. He held out an arm. Harry paused for a moment and then let himself be hugged. Looking over James’ shoulder, he was reminded of the brutal and violent truth of war: even in victory, there was death.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Chapter Seventeen**

 

Two days later, Harry sat in Remus’ study. His insides a twisted ball of emotion that consisted of barely scabbed over grief for Sirius and the new grief for the Weasleys. This world’s Charlie he didn’t know well, but that didn’t seem to matter. If it had been _his_ world and _his_ world’s Charlie, Harry was sure Mrs. Weasley would have demanded he stay at the Burrow for no other reason than to have him in sight. It struck an odd emotion in Harry that he didn’t know how to help. So, instead, he found himself in Remus’ study buried in Occlumency lessons.

Harry gripped the seat of the chair, teeth gritting and sweat soaking through his hair. He fought to keep his ocean in focus against an onslaught of pressure. It was sharp and invasive, and Harry’s head pounded with the effort to keep his mind to himself. Then, just as quickly as it came, the pressure gave and he collapsed against the back of the chair.

“That was good.” Remus leaned forward, studying Harry intently. “But—”

“Not good enough.” Harry kept his eyes closed and ran a hand through his damp hair.

He heard Remus sigh and shift in his chair as if his joints hurt. “That wasn’t what I was going to say,” Remus said, his tone lending to the fact that it was close enough.

“I need to be better,” Harry guessed, opening his eyes to look at Remus, the mental effort of trying to keep the werewolf from his mind making his limbs limp as if he’d been hit with a Jelly-Legs jinx. He was surprised just how physical Occlumency training could be.

Remus gave Harry a long look. “I don’t think you realize how far you’ve come. There are adults who wouldn’t have been able to keep me out.” The moon had been two nights ago, Remus and James having taken to the forest as Lily warded the house. It had been a hard moon, the first since Sirius. “How have the nightmares been?”

Harry shut his eyes again. He was tempted to ask Remus which nightmares he was talking about—the ones Voldemort sent him about James or the ones about Sirius. No matter how much he practiced clearing and warding his mind before bed, Voldemort still found a way in. Though, Harry had to admit, not as often anymore, but he didn’t know if that was because he was getting better at Occlumency or because Voldemort was still indisposed. “Better,” he finally said.

Remus raised one eyebrow in disapproval. “I know James has talked to you about avoiding problems.” He leaned forward. “It’s not healthy.”

“I still have them,” he said as a throbbing began behind his temples. “They aren’t as strong though.” He pressed his palms against the sides of his head. He was torn between wanting to tuck his pain away into a place where he didn’t have to think about it and wanting to open himself up and let the agony of loss just consume him in the hope that it would dull the sharpness of it. There was something about James’ and Remus’ presence in his life that just seemed to pull words from Harry’s mouth. He didn’t know how they did it.

“Does your head hurt?” Remus stood from his chair and headed for the kitchen.

Harry heard Remus rummage about in the cupboards, likely making tea or cocoa. Rubbing at the side of his head, Harry stood up to look at the photos arranged on the mantle of the fireplace. They’d been there each time he’d been at Remus’ cottage, but he’d never really taken the time to give them a good once over.

They were photos of _them_ , of the Harry and Sirius that had originally been a part of this universe. Though nobody openly talked of them, their memories were firmly rooted in this world, in the run-down and abandoned cottage on the other side of Whitehaven and in the bedroom frozen in time at the opposite end of the hallway from Harry’s room. Harry’s eyes ran over each photo and came to rest on a new one.

He picked it up.

It was of him, _him_ and not the other Harry, and Sirius. He didn’t remember when it was taken, but it must have been taken after one of their Sunday dinners where they spent the evening playing Exploding Snap and Wizard’s Chess in the sitting room. He and Sirius sat on the couch and Harry could just make out James sitting beside Sirius. They were laughing, Harry throwing his head back. Sirius sent a mischievous grin to someone outside the frame. Those evenings often ended in pranks and hijinks instigated by the three older men.

Harry clutched the frame and stared at Sirius’ face. He looked younger and happier than Harry remembered him being when they were at Grimmauld Place. The loss of his godfather rested heavily in his heart. The weight of it often caught him off guard in those unguarded moments. Death was a fact of life, a fact of a war that stretched on for decades. It was to be endured and beared, no matter how difficult or painful. There was nothing more to it. You accepted it and moved on.

Harry ran a finger over the image of Sirius’ face in the photo. Sirius leaned over and wrapped an arm around Harry in the photo. The pain of his death ran like a current within Harry. He had spent a lot of time on his anchor, using the calmness of his ocean to help temper the pain. Closing his eyes, he breathed and focused on the imagined feel of sand beneath his feet, the salty spray of ocean on his face. There was a nudge at the back of his mind, but the roar of waves prevented it from distracting him. He breathed in and out in time with the surging tide.

A hand rested on his arm, and Harry opened his eyes as a mug of cocoa was pressed into his hands.

Remus smiled at him, but there was concern in his eyes. “Be careful that you don’t use your anchor to cover up pain. It is useful for calming the mind, but it is no replacement for addressing problems.” He also had a mug of cocoa in hand and drank from it as he sat down. “How are you?” he asked.

Sighing, Harry fiddled with the handle of his mug before downing half of the cocoa. “I don’t know,” he said, but that was a lie. He felt alone and lost in a world without Sirius. “Why did he have to die? It’s so pointless.” Pulling one knee up, he picked at the worn patch on the knee of his pants.

“It’s never easy dealing with death, and the death of someone you saw as a parent is even harder. It doesn’t get easier, Harry, but it’s something we all have dealt with,” Remus said.

There was a brief but passing look of grief that passed through Remus’ features, and Harry was reminded of everything the people in this universe had lost. Remus had settled back in his chair, one leg crossed. They talked about life and death and war until the sun had nearly set. But mostly, they talked about Sirius.

“Death is pointless; war is pointless. But what isn’t pointless, is the need to keep going, to keep living and keep fighting,” Remus said as he stood. He took the nearly empty mug from Harry’s hands.

They walked back to Whitehaven, the air growing chilly as the sun set. As Harry pushed through the back door—Remus telling Harry to let Lily know he would miss dinner that night—he came to a sudden stop.

Arm-deep in the lower corner cupboard, Sam twisted around and froze. On the counter there was an empty biscuit packet. The expression on Sam’s face cycled quickly from surprise, to suspicion, and finally rested on defiance. He stared at Harry, and Harry stared back.

The door leading to the sitting room cracked open and Em poked her head into the kitchen. “Will you hurry—” Her eyes widened as she spotted Harry. She flicked a glance at Sam.

Harry looked at the biscuit packet, Sam’s arm in the lower cupboard, and the looks of guilt and stubbornness on their faces. “You’re looking in the wrong place,” he said, tossing his jacket on the hooks by the backdoor. He grabbed a chair and nudged Sam out of the way. Climbing onto the chair, he rummaged around in the top-most shelf, pushing aside packets of crackers and tins of beans. Finding what he was looking for, he extricated his arm from the depths of James’ hiding place and tossed the last packet of biscuits down to Sam. “That’s the last one.”

Sam tore the packet of biscuits open and was just about to grab several when the packet was pulled from his hands, a small sound of indignation falling from his mouth.

“I get half,” Harry said, hopping onto the counter.

“What?” Sam’s mouth dropped.

Harry grinned. “I found them.”

Em watched Sam and Harry, a frown forming between her eyebrows.

Sam’s mouth twisted into an angry scowl. “That’s not fair, and you know it.”

Taking a biscuit, Harry pulled the two halves apart. “I’m older,” he said, still grinning.

Em continued to watch, her eyes drifting to the packet of custard creams sitting in Harry’s lap. She took a step forward, keeping her eyes carefully on Harry.

Sam folded his arms and scowled. “What? You’re going to eat half a packet of biscuits?”

Harry shrugged, studying his biscuit. “I could try,” he said. “I once tried to eat one of Hagrid’s rock cakes.” He shoved the rest of the biscuit in his mouth. “As much as I like Hagrid, these are better,” he said around a mouthful of cookie just before the nearly full packet was swiped from his lap.

Em danced back from Harry and Sam’s reach, triumph gleaming in her eyes. She held the biscuit packet in her hands like a prized trophy. Sam glared at her for a moment before lunging forward. Squealing, Em darted away and scrambled up onto the kitchen table, the latest issue of _The Daily Resistance_ falling to the floor. She fumbled for the wand in her back pocket and aimed it at Sam and Harry. “Not one step more,” she said, holding the biscuits up high.

Smirking, Sam lifted one dramatic foot.

Em jabbed her wand at Sam. “I’ll hex you.”

Taking a step away, Harry grinned and watched.

“Do you know any hexes?” Sam asked.

Lifting her chin, Em nodded smartly. “Of course. Ginny showed me a couple.”

Stepping back, Sam spread his arms wide, putting himself on display. “Right then, let’s see.” He grinned at his sister in anticipation.

The door to the kitchen swung open, banging against the wall.

“What is going on in here?” James strode in, his hair a messy cloud around his head. He took a quick survey of the situation—Em on the table, the wand pointed at Sam, Harry trying to cover up his laughter, and at the center of it all: the last packet of biscuits in the house. He looked at Em first. “Do you plan on hexing your brother?”

She faltered, her wand arm dropping. “Um….I—”

“If you point your wand at another person, you better mean it,” James said, reaching up to take his daughter’s hand and pull her down as he snatched the packet of biscuits from her hand. “Get down.” He turned to Sam next, hazel eyes narrowing. “And you.”

Sam grinned at his father as if to say, _who me?_

“You’re really leaving yourself open to being hexed?” James gave his son a stern look. “You’ll do well to learn not to underestimate your opponent.”

“She’s eleven,” Sam said, throwing his hands up.

Em kicked her brother in the heel in offense. “Yeah, so?” She dodged his shove and stuck her tongue out.

James took a shoulder of each of his children and pushed them apart. “Out of the kitchen,” he said, guiding them through the door. “If I see wands pointed, there will really be trouble—and hands off the biscuits; these are mine!”

The two left, Em’s giggling fading through the doorway. James sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and turned to Harry. “You were really just going to stand there and watch?” He looked at Harry, eyebrow raised and the corner of his mouth upturned.

Harry shrugged, hands shoved into his pockets. “I suppose.”

James laughed, head thrown back, and pulled Harry in for a hug.

 

oOo

 

Lily stood in the study that night after the children had gone to bed. Weariness hung on her shoulders like an old cloak. She had spent the last day or so at Hogwarts. They were trying to save the school, the dark magic having sunk so deep into the physical and magical foundation of the land that Lily wasn’t even sure if they would be successful. After Voldemort had taken the school, he had used it to run experiments and hold prisoners—men and women, Muggles and Muggleborns, and the children—

Lily closed her eyes and pressed a hand to her forehead as her head began to throb. It would do no good to focus on the horrors she had seen. Instead, she opened her eyes and shuffled through a dozen parchments and magical photos of one of the rooms on the third floor she had found that morning. Runes had been inscribed into the walls creating multiple doorways with scorched and melted stone surrounding them. The runes were all deviations of each other, as if someone were trying to figure out the correct formula.

She knew what they were the moment she stepped into the room, knew what they were trying to do. It was the same thing the Order was trying to do. Lily had spent hours studying their work along with the runes specialist they had Floo-ed in. She ran her fingers over the last formulation in the stack of photos: the photo where the stone was just missing and the empty space leading to what appeared to be nothing. Looking at the photo, she could almost hear the voices coming from the other side of wherever the hole lead, but it was unstable. The doorway hadn’t lasted long, the wall partially crumbling not long after they took the castle. But Lily had known they were close, so close that it sent a shiver of fear through her.

Getting up from the desk she went over to the bookshelf. Her head and heart ached and she pressed a hand to her temple to ease the pain that lacked a physical source. She sat across from the bookshelf that housed her pensieve and stared at the dozen or so small vials that she had accumulated over the years. They had once been her only means of survival, but now only served as a reminder of what she had become. She had lived years as a shell of a person and the guilt had built up over the last few months.

Running a hand through her hair, she got up and reached for one. Pocketing the vial, she lifted the stone pensieve from the shelf and set it on the desk. She uncorked the vial, poured the memory in, and leaned into the past.

 

oOo

 

_Lily landed in the clearing behind the Burrow. It was late August, the sun high in the sky. Molly and the memory of Lily cleared the picnic table behind the crooked house. It was the summer before Harry’s third year at Hogwarts, and they were formulating a joint shopping list while reliving their own memories of their school years. Lily watched for a moment but her attention was drawn to the sounds of laughter, the sounds of children playing off through the orchards._

_A painful swell of longing rose in her chest._

_The memory of Lily, bowls in hand, turned and tapped her throat to amplify her voice. “HARRY, SAM, AND EM! WE’RE LEAVING IN FIVE MINUTES. IF YOU GET LEFT BEHIND AND FORCED TO SLEEP IN THE WEASLEY’S ATTIC WITH THE GHOUL, EXPECT NO SYMPATHY.” She chuckled and sent Molly a grin. “That’ll surely backfire on me and encourage Harry to dawdle.”_

_Molly’s smile was filled with fondness and warmth. “You know he’s always welcome.”_

_Lily didn’t hear her own response as a half dozen children emerged from the orchards, brooms in hand and faces flushed. And there he was, as alive as her memory of him was. Her feet were frozen and her heart pounded as she looked at Harry._

_“Did you mean it about having to sleep in the attic with the ghoul?” His hair was windswept, face alight with exertion and the particular sort of excitement that only Harry could find in flying and Quidditch. “‘Cause I don’t mind.” He grinned at his mother. “Can I stay over?”_

_Lily’s memory sent a knowing look to Molly who only returned it in force. Laughter followed Molly into the kitchen as she ushered Ron and Ginny in with a firm tutting, followed closely by Fred and George, their heads close together in a maniacal fashion._

_“Can I stay over too?” Sam appeared at Lily’s elbow, his face hopeful._

_A small hand slid into Lily’s hand. “I don’t want to sleep with the ghoul,” Em said, pressing close to her mother._

_Lily watched the exchange between her past self and her children as the memory faded away._

 

oOo

 

That last summer before Hogwarts fell had been a warning disguised as a blessing. The attacks had slowed down, sightings of Death Eaters becoming infrequent, and The Order had ramped up their efforts, thinking they had an opening. Lily had seen that summer as a gift to her children, giving them long afternoons in the sun punctuated with games and laughter. They had breathed openly, something none of them had done for a long time.

If only they had known.

It was the summer before Lily’s life was torn apart and her heart wrought from her body. The memory was not an easy one for it was the one she returned to time and again when she thought of Harry that summer before he died. Dipping her wand into the pensieve, she collected her memory of that summer and touched it to her temple. She felt it settle in her mind, the fuzzy edges sharpening.

The door behind her opened.

“Lily?” James sat down across from her, his hand on her arm as concern creased between his brows. She closed her eyes and leaned into him—James, her James. Even with her eyes shut, she could sense his presence, always solid and steady. As long as she had James, she knew she would be able to carry on. She felt his fingers brush through the hair framing her face.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice soft.

“I can’t do this anymore,” she said, opening her eyes and looking at the man she’d loved since she was sixteen. “It needs to stop.”

James pulled away, the concern on his face morphing into something sharper and more immediate. “Lily—what?”

Her eyes flicked over the fear in his face, and she cupped his face with one hand. “Love, I need to stop running from the pain of his dea—” Pressing her lips together, she gave a shake of her head. For the longest time, she couldn’t even think the word, let alone say it. “Harry’s death,” she said again with a firmness to her voice.

The crease between James’ brows deepened. “Lily, you don’t—”

“But I do.” She leaned forward, gripping the glass vial. “I _have_ to do this.” Her voice was a whisper. “He never deserved this.”

Lily’s hands in his, James squeezed her fingers, shaking his head. “No, Lily, no. You don’t have to subject yourself to that sort of pain.”

“I’ve been living in a fog these past several years, James.” Shame filled her heart and she pressed at her eyes to quell the tears. The shame turned to anger. “How is that fair to Sam and Em?” She pulled her hands out of James’ hold. “How is that fair to you?”

James pressed a hand to his face. “I have never judged you for how you dealt with Harry’s death,” he said. “Neither of us took it very well.”

Lily snorted, looking away. “That’s an understatement.”

Glancing up, James swallowed thickly. “Do you remember when I proposed to you?”

She met his eyes with a dry look. “You mean when we were eleven and you went down on one knee in the middle of breakfast in the Great Hall?”

The corner of James’ mouth quirked and he shook his head, a section of hair falling into his eyes. “I’d forgotten about that—but no, I mean the one where you finally said yes. Do you remember what I said?”

Lily remembered that day as a rush of emotion. They’d just gotten back from a Death Eater raid, adrenaline still running high, when James had dropped to the ground. There had been the initial jolt of terror as she saw him go down out of the corner of her eye, but that had quickly turned to surprise and a strange mix of exhilaration and exasperation as he pulled a ring out of his pocket.

“You said that you didn’t know what the future held or even if there would be one but you knew you wanted me in it,” she said.

James nodded. “Then what?”

“And you said there would likely be pain and death, it being a war and all, but you felt better if we were in it together, side by side.”

“Side by side, Lils,” he said, taking her by the arms and pulling her into a hug.

Sighing, she closed her eyes and nestled her head into the space between his shoulder and neck, right where it always fit, where she always belonged. “I’m not trying to torture myself,” she said, looking up at him. “This is about healing. I don’t want to hide anymore. I don’t want to be that person. I _can’t_ be that person.” Her eyes drifted to the doorway leading to the dark hallway. “They need me too much; _he_ needs me too much—needs us too much.” She paused.  “I-I was thinking.” She leaned over and grabbed one of the photos scattered across her desk. “You know he has to return to his world eventually. He can’t stay here,” she said, handing the photo to James. “They were close,” she said. “They _are_ close.”

James looked at the photo. It was of the gateway, almost complete.

“I think this might have what we were missing early on, how to direct the gateway from this world to the next,” she said and pointed at the curling runes that created the top of the doorway. “These are different than what we were using.” Lily turned to face James. “It-it could work.”

“Alright.” He nodded slowly, studying the runes, before turning his head to press his lips against Lily’s. “When it’s time for him to go, we go with him,” he said.

 

oOo

 

The following afternoon, the floo roared to life, Severus stumbling out. Blood poured from his chest, pooling on the floor as he fell to his knees. James, who had been in the kitchen dealing with a minor Charms explosion, poked his head out the door. Lily had gone to Hogwarts for the afternoon and he figured he had forgotten something.

“Lily, back alrea-” His words stuck in his throat.

Severus turned his head towards James, pain etching lines into his face. “Run. Take the children and run.”


End file.
